Exodus
by Smeghead
Summary: The Empire is dying a lingering death... until a copy of the mission report from the Outbound Flight project appears. A more detailed summary is at the start of the story
1. Exodus Part 1

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Exodus  
_by Robert Cox (smeghead@ix.net.au)_

A FEW THINGS YOU MIGHT WANNA KNOW... 

This is my attempt at a Star Wars fan fiction. Let me know what you think of it! 

A few words of warning....

  
This is a kinda unlikely story (if you want "Star Wars" to remain in a "galaxy far, far away", anyway), but I hope you find it an entertaining read.

  
This will probably end up as a 'Luke and Callista' story (even though I hate to categorise in that way), as it sounds like a more probable story-line. Mara might make an appearance, but not as a romantic interest for Luke. I mean, can you imagine Luke and Mara falling in love? I can't really picture it (I mean, Mara _did_ want to kill Luke. Not exactly a good foundation for a stable long-term relationship :) 

*Obligatory legal bullshit mode on*  
Based on characters and situations created by George Lucas. On the "duck principle" (That is, "if it looks like a duck, waddles like a duck, quacks like a duck, and leaves duck s**t all over the place like a duck, then it's probably a  
duck"), if it looks like a George Lucas creation, and has the name of a George Lucas creation, then it's probably a George Lucas creation (I ain't gonna sell it, or do anything else that will make money from it. Some characters will appear from  
other Star Wars stories, and I am indebted to the authors of those stories for creating them and letting me play with them. Any copyright infringements are totally accidental, and I apologise for them). Anything else is created by ME, and please don't spread it around or anything without asking first (if you ask nicely, I'll probably say yes anyway).  
*Obligatory legal bullshit mode off* 

SPOILER WARNING:  
This story contains spoilers for "X-Wing: The Bacta War" and "Tyrant's Test". If you haven't read these two SW novels, you'll probably be scratching your head and wondering, "What the f**k is he on about?" My reply to you is, "READ  
THOSE BOOKS!" 

OK, here we go! Enjoy! 

Robert Cox 

EXODUS 

IT IS FIFTEEN YEARS AFTER THE BATTLE OF ENDOR, AND  
THE DEATH OF THE EMPEROR. THE NEW REPUBLIC HAS  
MANAGED TO SURVIVE DESPITE EVERYTHING THAT HAS BEEN  
THROWN AT IT, INCLUDING YSANNE ISARD, GRAND ADMIRAL  
THRAWN, THE RESURRECTED EMPEROR, DAALA, DURGA THE  
HUTT, THE YEVETHANS, KUELLER, AND THE CORELLIAN  
UPRISING.

THE EMPIRE, ON THE OTHER HAND, HAS SHRUNK STEADILY.  
LESS THAN ONE-TENTH OF ITS SYSTEMS REMAIN LOYAL,  
AND EVERY ATTEMPT TO REVIVE THE EMPIRE HAS FAILED.  
ADMIRAL PELLAEON, THE SENIOR SURVIVING IMPERIAL  
OFFICER, KNOWS THAT DRASTIC MEASURES MUST BE TAKEN,  
BUT WHAT?

The Empire was doomed unless a miracle happened.

  
Admiral Pellaeon knew that at the centre of his being. He had monitored with great interest recent events in the Corellian Sector, hoping that Sal-Solo would succeed, for if he did, Pellaeon would be able to use the confusion generated to  
launch yet another counter-offensive to try and gain some territory back from the New Republic. 

But Sal-Solo had failed, and the Corellian Sector, and the Corellian system in particular, was swarming with New Republic warships. Forget about that, then.

  
Maybe there was something in the files that he had recently discovered on the _Chimaera_'s main computer that could help.  
One of the files was coded. A code known only to the Emperor - and his Grand Admirals, which had included Grand Admiral Thrawn. He had no idea what was included in the file, but it would probably be worth his while to take a look. 

* * * * * 

It was an average day for Leia Organa Solo, Chief of State of the New Republic. Seemingly endless Senate meetings, punctuated by individuals lobbying her to try to present their point of view to her. Once again, she wished for the days of the Rebellion. Things were so much simpler then. Now she had to worry about holding the largest - and probably most fragile - government in the galaxy together. No matter what she did, she attracted criticism of one kind or another. Some of it was useful, actually describing possible shortcomings of what she had planned. Some of it, however, was pure rubbish, being a personal attack on her, rather than on what she was doing.

  
"Getting frustrated, Leia?" the person sitting across the desk from her asked.

  
"No, I actually _enjoy_ all this," she said in a sarcastic tone of voice.

  
Jedi Master Luke Skywalker laughed. "That sarcasm is enough to give me a headache," he said, holding his head as if he _was _suffering from a headache. "I not only heard the sarcasm, but felt it through the Force."

  
Leia grinned. Sometimes, Luke still acted like the naive farm boy from Tatooine that she had met on the first Death Star. "Your turn to get frustrated, Luke," she said maliciously.

  
Luke looked surprised. "What do you mean by that?"

  
"After we got back from Corellia-"

  
"And wasn't _that_ a fun trip," Luke muttered.

  
Ignoring the interruption, Leia continued, "You mentioned that Mon Mothma had suggested to you that you should undertake some diplomatic training." She grinned evilly.

  
"You don't mean?" Luke asked nervously.

  
Leia nodded. "You should become an ambassador, Luke. Maybe the Jedi Ambassador to the Senate, or something similar. People respect you. They pay attention to you when you speak. You could potentially be a very influential  
ambassador."

  
"This sounds familiar. Do the words 'You could potentially become a very powerful Jedi' mean anything to you?"

  
Leia nodded. Luke had declared her a fully trained Jedi just before she left to go to Corellia. She had spent about ten years training when she could get the time off from her commitments to the New Republic. That had to be a record for the longest time required for Jedi to complete the training.

  
_Don't be disappointed, Leia. I never doubted your commitment to the training. Building a galactic government takes a lot of time and energy_.

  
Leia glared at Luke. He had obviously sensed her self-reproachment about her exceptionally long Jedi training period, and tried to console her about it. She didn't want to be consoled. She knew that the work that she had done building the New  
Republic was important. 

"When do I start the training, Diplomacy Master?" Luke asked with a cheeky grin.

  
Leia's irritation melted away. Luke was so much like Han in a number of ways. "As soon as possible," she replied. "There's a diplomatic mission and state visit to the Hapes Cluster in a couple of weeks, and I feel that you should know  
the basics before you leave."

  
"Me? I'm going with you?" Luke asked in a surprised tone of voice.

  
"Why not? You're one of the most famous people in the galaxy."

  
"Okay, but I'll probably open my mouth for the first time and proceed to stick both feet in it," Luke grumbled.

  
"Don't worry about it Luke. People respect you for what you are, a Jedi Master, not for being a diplomat."

  
"Okay, I'll give it my best shot," Luke sighed.

  
"Remember what you kept telling me, Luke? '_Do or do not. There is no try_'." She grinned as she reminded him of the saying that she had so often heard during her training.

  
They both laughed at that. 

* * * * * 

Pellaeon read the file again and sat back in his chair, totally surprised. He had heard about the Outbound Flight project, but Grand Admiral Thrawn had told him that the mission had been intercepted and destroyed. By a task force led by Thrawn himself.

  
Yet, he was reading a file that contained a report from the Outbound Flight mission. Obviously, the Emperor had been intrigued by the possibility of extending his authority outside the galaxy, and had either allowed at least one of the Jedi Masters to survive, or had replaced them with Dark Jedi. _Probably the second option_, Pellaeon thought. _Since he was heavily involved with the Dark Side of the Force himself_.

  
The Emperor obviously hadn't expected much in the way of success, so Pellaeon could imagine his surprise when the report had come back in. A planet containing intelligent life had been found. More astonishingly, the life had been human. Pellaeon skipped past the geographical, geological, and astrographical information contained in the report.

  
The technology level on the planet had been at a fairly primitive, pre-spaceflight stage. The political data showed that it was divided into numerous competing political entities, and had been fighting a vicious war amongst themselves at the time. Pellaeon didn't place too much trust in that section of the report. Many things could have happened in the fifty-odd years since the report was written.

  
The most important thing was its co-ordinates, and its position in its galaxy. He pressed a button on the console. A hologram appeared in front of him. A map appeared in front of him, with a notation that the map wasn't all that accurate to start off with, and had probably become even more inaccurate due to galactic drift since. Pellaeon didn't care. All he was interested in was that the co-ordinates were accurate enough to get him within half a light-year of the system. He queried the computer to find out the local name of the system.  


The local name for the star was Sol, and the planet's name was Terra, or Earth. 

* * * * * 

As Luke walked into the Senate chamber, he was awe-struck by how big the place was. This wasn't his first visit to the chamber, but it was his first visit as an active participant. Leia directed him to his seat and squeezed his shoulder encouragingly before moving to her own place. When the First Administrator announced that the Senate was in session, Leia stood up and announced, "Senators, ever since the death of the Emperor, my brother, Jedi Master Luke Skywalker,  
has been searching the galaxy in search of Jedi instruction techniques and methods. And since he started the Jedi Academy on Yavin 4, he has been searching for candidates to teach.  


"In fact, it was in this Senate that he announced his desire to start the Academy. Now, both he and I believe that the next generation of Jedi Knights, such as new Masters Kyp Durron, Kam Solusar, and Kirana Ti, are perfectly capable of continuing the training of Jedi. 

"Therefore, it is my intention to nominate Jedi Master Skywalker for the new position of Jedi Ambassador. Jedis have always traditionally had a role in mediation and judgement, and have a reputation for fairness in their decisions.  


"I believe that there is a place in the Senate for a Jedi representative."  


Admiral Ackbar, Supreme Commander of the New Republic Armed Forces, added his support to that of Leia. "I am in full agreement with the Chief of State," he stated. "I believe a representative of the Jedi Order is necessary for affairs that  
concern both the Order and the New Republic."   


Other members of the Senate also added their support for Luke. When Leia called for a vote - removing herself from voting due to the fact that she was Luke's sister - the 'yes' vote for Luke being appointed Jedi Ambassador was unanimous. 

* * * * * 

Lieutenant Belindi Kalenda of New Republic Intelligence read over the intelligence reports that were sitting in front of her. It didn't make much sense. Imperial forces were reported as massing at Selenos, a system in the outer regions of the Rim, about as far away from the few remaining Imperial strongholds in the Core as it was possible to get while still remaining in the galaxy. Still, it was rather important data, and should be seen by the Chief of State as soon as possible.  


When she walked into the Chief of State's office, Belindi noticed that both her husband, General Han Solo, and newly appointed Jedi Ambassador Luke Skywalker were also present. 

"Your message said that this information was important, Lieutenant Kalenda," Leia stated.  


"I believe so, Madame Chief of State," Belindi replied. "There have been reports of a massive gathering of Imperial forces near the Selenos system."  


"How massive?" Han asked.  


"There are reports of two _Executor_-class Star Destroyers, the _Devastator_ and the _Intimidator_, along with about two dozen _Imperial_-class and about fifty or so _Victory_-class Star Destroyers, along with smaller vessels, such as Loranars,  
Lancers, Dreadnaughts and Interdictors. The total is somewhere in the vicinity of three hundred and fifty to four hundred capital ships. That doesn't include TIE fighters, bombers, and recon craft."  


A stunned silence filled the room. "That's the largest gathering of Imperial forces since Daala's campaign, or maybe even Endor," Han muttered.  


"Hang on," Luke said. "_Intimidator_. That name sounds familiar."  


"It should, Luke. That was what the Yevethans used as their flagship. They renamed it _Pride of Yevetha_," Han said, shuddering as he remembered his hellish time as a prisoner aboard that ship before being rescued by a Wookiee strike  
force led by Chewbacca just before its recapture by former Black Sword Command Imperial troops.  


Luke nodded as he remembered the scene at N'zoth: seconds before the battle had commenced, every single captured Imperial ship had come to an abrupt halt, then had jumped into hyperspace, taking with them Nil Spaar and the senior Yevethan command and leaving the Yevethan thrustships to fight on their own. That had probably secured the New Republic victory in the Battle of N'zoth.   


"It gets worse," Belindi continued, as her datapad chirped to indicate that she had just received more data. Scanning the new data quickly, she continued. "I've just received new reports that there are two more staging points similar to the Selenos system. There are no strength estimates attached to these new reports, so we have to assume that the strengths are similar to Selenos."  


"I stand corrected, then. The largest gathering of military forces since the Clone Wars," Han muttered again, face pale. "That much hardware could wreak some true havoc."  


"New Republic forces are standing on high alert, but there's something strange about these forces. They appear to be laying in enough supplies for an extended journey," Belindi announced.  


"How extended?" Leia asked.  


"Six to nine months," Belindi replied.  


"That _is_ strange," Luke muttered. "Why would they lay in that amount of supplies? Standard Imperial procedure is to replenish supplies from each world after they conquer it."

  
Luke studied Belindi carefully. She returned his gaze, or at least appeared to. Since she was slightly cross-eyed, her focus of attention appeared to be slightly behind Luke, and slightly off to his left. He had met her during the Corellian Uprising, and had noted that she maintained her calm under all sorts of intense situations where the average person would have  
been thrown into a severe panic attack. She also reported all data in a calm way, without excitement. The consummate professional. _Slight Force potential, perhaps?_ he thought. Maybe it was just a result of her NRI training. "Is there a possibility that the observers who sent this data in miscounted?" he asked.  


"There is always that possibility, Jedi Master, but I am of the opinion that the count is fairly accurate," Belindi offered.

  
"What sort of margin of error are we talking about here?" Han asked eagerly, obviously hoping that the margin of error would be very large. 

"In my opinion, plus or minus ten to fifteen percent."  


Han visibly subsided. That sort of error could mean that there could be up to forty or so capital ships less than reported, but there could also be up to forty or so capital ships _more_ than reported. Then there was the matter of identification. "How about the identification?" he asked hopefully.  


"Han, it is kind of hard to misidentify a _Executor_-class for anything else, or anything else for a _Executor_-class, for that matter," Luke said gently.  


"I was referring to the other ships. The ships reported as _Imperial_-class could have been _Victory_-class. The smaller ships could have been misreported as a larger class." Everyone turned to Belindi for the professional opinion.  


"Unlikely. That might be the case with the small ships such as the Lancers and Loranars, but I doubt that it would have happened with the mid-size and large ships."  


"If I may interrupt," Leia put in, "but we were discussing possible reasons for them stocking up with such a large amount of supplies. What do you think, Lieutenant?"

  
"I have no idea, Madame Chief of State. Several requests for more information have been sent out, but we have had no replies as of yet," Belindi replied.  


__

The consummate professional, Luke thought. _She separates what she thinks from what she knows. She'll be going far_. "I have a suggestion," Luke said suddenly, surprising everyone. "I believe I can contact someone who may be able to provide the information that we need."  


Leia's voice sounded in Luke's head. _Mara Jade? Didn't she want to kill you once?_

  
_That's in the past now, Leia. We get along well enough now. She might have no great love for either myself or the New Republic, she's found out enough about Palpatine's dirty tricks to come to truly loathe the Empire_.

  
Leia nodded at that. "I do wish that you two wouldn't do that weird-latent-through-the-Force-twin-thing," Han grumbled. "Would you mind sharing that with those of us who _aren't_ Jedi?"

  
Luke smiled. "I was thinking of asking Mara Jade to poke around and she what she can find out. Her sources are probably as good as the NRI's."

  
"You must be kidding, Luke! She wanted to kill you once!" Han spluttered.

  
"In the past, Han. She might not have any great love either for myself or the New Republic, but she really hates the Empire. She'll look into it," Luke said, adding _I hope_ to himself.

  
"As long as you remember to pay her enough," Han muttered sarcastically.

  
"I seem to remember a certain smuggler who isn't a million miles away from here saying something similar," Leia said with a grin. "I believe he said something like, '_I ain't in it for your revolution, and I ain't in it for you, Princess. I expect to be well paid. I'm in it for the money_'."

  
"I _was_ well-paid for rescuing you, Leia," Han muttered uncomfortably. "I just never got around to spending it. Kinda hard to spend money when you're frozen in carbonite."

  
"What do you think, Belindi?" Luke asked, trying to get the discussion back on track.

  
"I think it's a good idea," she replied. "The NRI doesn't have a monopoly on information sources in the galaxy. We're not too proud to accept help."

  
"She's helped us before by passing information to us," Luke pointed out.

  
"All right, I give in," Han said, throwing his hands up in a gesture of surrender.

  
"I'll give her a call and ask her if she has anything," Luke said, standing up.

  
"That's all I have, Madame Chief of State," Belindi said. "If anything else comes in, I'll let you know." She also stood up.  
As they left, Luke turned to Belindi and said, "What do you think?"

  
"I'm not sure, but it can't be good." 

* * * * * 

Pellaeon was starting to run into difficulties. He had stripped the Imperial remnants of virtually every warship left in fighting condition. He needed someone to take command of what was left and use it to protect Imperial territory. He needed someone who would act aggressively, so as to create the impression of forces many times larger than what actually existed. But at the same time, the person had to be cautious, so as not to get the entire force destroyed. A hit-and-fade type campaign would be needed. He suddenly grinned. He knew exactly the person he wanted.  


Daala. 

* * * * * 

Luke was sitting in front of his holocomm projector, waiting for an incoming signal. He had left a contact schedule with one of Mara Jade's contacts, and this was the second-last time specified. Maybe she didn't want to talk to him.  


Not that he cared one way or the other, but this information was important to the New Republic. Finally, the projector beeped as it detected an incoming signal. A small hologram of Mara's head and shoulders appeared. "Hi Mara."

  
"I doubt this is a social call, Skywalker," she said, getting straight down to business. _Ah, the Mara we've all come to know and love_, Luke thought.

  
"You're right, it isn't. We need some information. How much will you be charging?"

  
"Depends on the information you want."  


Belindi had impressed on him not to reveal any NRI sources or information-gathering techniques. _Only give the basics_, Luke thought before he replied, "We've received information that Imperial forces are gathering at the Selenos system, and at two other places. I was wondering if it was possible for you to find out something about them."

  
"Unless the NRI's fallen asleep, you should already know the call code of each ship commander's latest mistress."

  
"Oh, we do," Luke answered breezily. Then he turned serious. "But they appear to be doing something strange."  


"Apart from massing as far out in the Outer Rim as possible while still remaining in the galaxy?"

  
Luke hesitated before replying. _What the heck. If she can't find this tidbit of info out by herself, then she's let her skills go to waste_. "They appear to be stocking supplies for an extremely extended voyage."  


Mara's eyes narrowed. "How extended?"  


"Six to nine months."  


Mara sat back, and a contemplative expression crossed her face. "There is something actually. Something from when I was working for that black beast Palpatine," she said, referring to her time as the Emperor's Hand. "About two years before the Battle of Yavin. He was reading a datacard and gloating quite visibly. I didn't pay much attention to him, as he was gloating quite a lot in those days. But a few days later, he was in one of the foulest moods I'd ever seen him in. He was muttering something about having lost the report from the Outbound Flight mission. Not exactly what you're after, but it should be useful."  


"It might be, considering the fact that this Imperial fleet is laying in a lot of supplies. They're probably intending an extended  
voyage outside the galaxy." 

  
"Is that all, Skywalker? I _do_ have a business to run."  


"One more thing, Mara," Luke said. Mara, who had been reaching for the 'end trans' button, straightened up. "We've received reports of two other strong Imperial forces gathering." He named the systems. "But we have no strength reports as of yet. Could you check those out?"

  
A calculating look appeared in Mara's eyes. _Probably trying to figure out how much to charge us_, Luke thought. "Okay, but it's going to cost you," she said.  


"How much?" Luke asked, knowing that it probably wouldn't be cheap.

  
"Forty thousand, in advance."

  
From long association with Han, Luke knew that Mara wasn't expecting that. "Twenty-five, half now, the rest when the information comes in," Luke bargained.  


"Thirty-five. Twenty now, the rest when I deliver," Mara countered.  


They finally agreed on thirty thousand, with half to be paid immediately, and the rest when Mara delivered her information. "You've been spending too much time with Solo," Mara said with grudging respect. "You bargain too well." She appeared upset, but Luke could tell that she'd enjoyed the challenge of bargaining with a Jedi Master. "I'll put my best sources to work, and get Ghent to work on slicing some Imperial databases." Luke knew that results would be in his possession soon. Mara had information sources that rivalled the NRI's, even though NRI was many times larger. _Mara always prized quality over quantity_.  


"Okay then, Mara. I'll be expecting a report from you." Luke switched the holocomm unit off, and went to report to Leia. Information was information, no matter what the source was. 

* * * * * 

"So, what do you want from me?" the woman sitting across the desk from Admiral Pellaeon asked.  


He showed her the Outbound Flight data that he had found. The delicately sculptured face topped by flowing red hair was contorted in an expression of complete surprise. As the only female Admiral ever in the Imperial fleet, Daala was oticeable.  


"Outbound Flight?" she asked. "But I heard that the mission was a complete failure."

  
"Apparently that's what the Emperor wanted everyone to think. It seemed that he ordered Thrawn to destroy the original mission, and he sent his own mission out, consisting of Dark Jedi." An expression of hatred crossed Daala's face. She had always hated Jedi, and that hatred had been increased after Jedi had caused the failure of her attempt to reform the Empire, first by discovering her plans, and then by stopping her attack on Yavin 4 cold, first by somehow _shoving_ Pellaeon's fleet of seventeen _Imperial_-class Star Destroyers out of the system, and the destruction of her _Executor_-class Star Destroyer, the _Knight Hammer_, by a single Jedi, _who had lost her powers_! That rankled most of all.

Pellaeon had no love for Jedi himself, but he knew that a Dark Jedi, if kept under the proper restraints, could prove useful to his mission. The trick was to find one. _Keeping him under control would be no easy feat, either_, Pellaeon thought, remembering the difficulties that Grand Admiral Thrawn had had in controlling Joruus C'baoth.

  
"Back to the original topic. While I lead the forces I have gathered at Selenos, I want you to commence a guerrilla campaign against the Rebels, to keep them off-balance and unable to react, either against my expeditionary force, or the remaining Imperial strongholds." He called up a list of the forces available to her. Her eyes widened in astonishment as she scanned the list.   


One _Executor_-class, the _Annihilator_, a half-dozen _Imperial_-class, a dozen _Victory_-class Star Destroyers, and an Interdictor cruiser. Enough to keep a far larger Rebel force tied down guarding against her, and chasing her forces down.  


Pellaeon knew that her chances for ultimate success were slim, but he knew from experience that guerrilla campaigns rarely ended with victory; they just prevented one side or the other from claiming total victory. Besides, her ultimate goal was to distract the Rebels long enough for him to gain a foothold in this neighbouring galaxy. When this had happened, he  
would send for her, and she would leave the remnants in this galaxy to fend for themselves. Each remaining Imperial system was sufficiently fortified as to require a long campaign to capture them, and in that time, he was sure a new fleet could be built up.

  
The problem was keeping these plans from the self-styled New Republic. He was sure that the NRI had already discovered that he was massing forces, and he hoped that they were concentrating their efforts on the two decoy  
sites that he had set up. But the NRI was nothing if not efficient, being based around the near-legendary Bothan spynet. And there were others. The smuggler-turned-trader Mara Jade, ex-Emperor's Hand, had an impressive information-gathering network. He only hoped that negotiations over the price at which the information would be sold would delay its being passed on to the New Republic long enough for him to get under way, and for Daala's diversionary campaign to distract them from sending forces after them.  


He dismissed Daala to begin her campaign, and continued planning his own. 

* * * * * 

"Okay, one more time: we've arrived at Hapes, and they've laid on a formal reception for us. What's the plan for continuing?"

  
Luke was being subjected to a rigorous training schedule, almost like his Jedi training on Dagobah, and the pace he imposed on his own trainees on Yavin 4. He thought for a moment before replying. "We endure the receiving line,  
making polite conversation with every person," he paused and grinned mischievously, "including our old friends Isolder and Teneniel Djo."

  
"That was a cheap shot, Luke. You know I had no real intention of marrying Isolder." Leia glared at Luke for a moment.  


"It didn't look like it from where I was sitting," Luke replied, still grinning.  


"Can we continue, please?"  


"All right. We've survived the receiving line, and we move to the pre-banquet reception, where I'll be expected to make polite conversation with the-Force-only-knows how many people, who will probably all ask the same questions and make the same bland, politically correct statements which will bore me out of my mind, while simultaneously driving me crazy."  


"Right. And the conversation will probably centre on you as a Jedi, and little else. You are, after all, one of the most famous people in the galaxy."

  
"Oh, boy. Fame, fortune and all the good things that that entails," Luke muttered sarcastically. "Sometimes I wish I'd _stayed_ on Tatooine. At least I'd have a quieter life."

  
"Moving right along," Leia continued, ignoring Luke's sarcasm. "The banquet is over, and the after-banquet speeches are about to begin. Teneniel, as the Ta'a Chume, will probably speak first, and her speech will be a glowing recollection of her friendship with you, and 'hearty congratulations on your appointment to the New Republic Senate as Jedi Ambassador'."

  
Luke wanted to ask how she knew all this, but realised that she had been to more of these functions than she remembered, and they all tended to be the same, with only minor differences. Leia was about to continue her run-through of the probable sequence of events, when her comlink chirped. "Excuse me", she said to Luke. "Organa Solo," she said into the comlink.

  
"Galvis here, from Palace Security, Madame President. I apologise for the interruption, but we've found something that might be of interest to you."

  
"What is it?" Leia asked.

  
"A datacard of some description. Older type, about twenty years old."

  
Luke remembered what Mara had told him about the Emperor losing a datacard that contained a report from the Outbound Flight project. "Have him bring it up here," he said to Leia. "If it's the card I think it us, it might explain why the  
Imperial fleet is massing in such a remote location, and why it's laying in such a large amount of supplies."

  
"Bring it up here," Leia ordered the security officer.

  
"At once, Madame President." 

* * * * * 

It had been a total fluke. A patrolling Palace Security guard, making her regular rounds, had noticed something irregular on her scanner display. She had immediately moved to check it out, notifying her supervisor of what she was doing. Her scanner lead her to a section of blank wall. _A secret doorway, perhaps?_ she thought, running her hands over the wall in an attempt to find a way to open it. Unexpectedly, it snapped open. She leapt back in surprise, drawing her blaster pistol at the same time. 

But nothing had happened.  


Drawing on her courage, she cautiously proceeded into the hallway revealed. After about fifteen meters it opened up into the most lavishly decorated room she had ever seen. Her blaster sagged down in synchronisation with her jaw as she gaped at the magnificence of the room. The comlink clipped to her lapel chirped, she heard her supervisor say, "What have you found, Toni?"

  
"A truly amazing room, Brella, truly amazing." She couldn't say any more than that. It was huge, with viewscreens on every wall, and a holoprojector in the middle of the room. Her scanner beeped as it neared the object it had picked up. Startled, she looked at it, and pressed a button. A projection of a datacard appeared and hovered above the scanner, with an arrow pointing in the direction she would have to take to locate it. She moved in the direction the arrow indicated, and was led to a datacard sitting, apparently abandoned, on the floor. She picked it up and placed it in one of her pockets. "I've found it, Brella."  


"Found what, Toni?"  


"The object that was registering on my scanner. It's a datacard of some description."

  
"Bring it here at once," he ordered, and then the comlink went silent. 

* * * * * 

The Security officer brought the datacard into Leia's office, saluted and left. "Interesting," Luke commented. "Galvis was right. Older model, but fortunately compatible with our readers."

  
"It never ceases to amaze me," Leia commented. "We've been using the Imperial Palace for nearly thirteen years now, and we're still finding secret rooms." She opened one of the drawers in her desk, took out a reader and handed it to Luke. Luke accepted the reader and inserted the datacard. He muttered a curse he'd learned from Han. "What is it, Luke?" Leia asked.  


"It's coded. Looks like the Emperor's personal code."

  
"Does that mean we can't read it?" Leia felt frustrated. Potentially vital information, and it couldn't be read!

  
"Not necessarily. I can think of one person who might be able..." He was interrupted by the chirping of his comlink. "Yes?"

  
"Ambassador Skywalker, we've received a call for you from a Mara Jade. Do you want us to route it to where you are?"  


"Do that," Luke ordered, and turned to Leia. While he was waiting for the call to be connected he said, "This is lucky. As I was about to say, I can think of one person who might be able to decode it."

  
"Who?" Leia asked.

  
"Mara Jade. After all, she _was_ one of the Emperor's personal agents."

  
Mara's head and shoulders appeared in the holo field on Leia's desk. "I've found the information you were after, Skywalker. When do I get paid?"

  
"When you've told us what the information is, Mara, and not a second before."

  
"I suppose that's the best offer I'm going to get," Mara said sourly. "All right, here it is: there's only one Imperial staging area; the one at Selenos. The other two are decoys, evidently intended to be found by the NRI while the real site hopefully goes unnoticed." Luke felt slightly relieved by this. It wasn't as bad as he'd feared. Mara continued, "Admiral Pellaeon is in charge." 

"I was wondering where he'd vanished to after the debacle at Yavin 4 a few years back," Luke said.

  
"Well, now you know. Apparently he's gathered all other Imperial forces into a strike fleet. I haven't managed to find out what it consists of, but it'll probably be fairly strong."

  
"Who's in charge of the strike fleet?"

  
"Admiral Daala," Mara said grimly.

  
"What! I thought she was dead!" Luke exclaimed.

  
"I bet you thought that after she was last seen making a strafing run on the Maw Installation when it exploded. You should know by now not to count anyone as dead until you see the body."

  
"Yeah, I should have known better. Your money is on they way." Luke pressed buttons to send the fifteen thousand credits that was owed to Mara on its way. "One other thing, Mara," Luke said.

  
"You know, Skywalker, I'm starting to get annoyed with your 'one other thing's." She sighed. "But I suppose I'll get no rest until I check it out. What is it?"

  
"Something minor. Do you still remember any of the codes used by the Emperor from your time as his agent?"

  
"Of course I do. Why?"

  
"Because we've found a datacard that appears to be encoded using the Emperor's personal code. Do you think you can decode it?"

  
"Of course - but it's going to cost you."

  
"Does five thousand seem reasonable?"

  
"I suppose it had better - that's probably all you're going to pay me." She sighed. "Send it to me and I'll send you to decoded version."

  
Luke hesitated for a moment, but Mara had proven herself to be trustworthy when she had delivered a message cube to Leia before events had exploded in the Corellian system. "All right, here it is." He connected the data reader to the holocomm unit, and pressed controls to activate the secure data transfer link.

  
Mara glanced at something outside the field of view of the holocomm unit. "All right. It looks like the code he used to send instructions to his Grand Admirals, and highly ranked agents such as myself." There had been a time when she hadn't been able to mention her time as the Emperor's Hand without feeling an intense desire to kill Luke. That had been planted by the Emperor just before he had been killed by Darth Vader aboard the second Death Star at Endor. She had overcome that planted suggestion by killing a clone of Luke during the struggle against the insane Dark Jedi Master Joruus C'boath. "I remember the decrypt string." She turned and punched a long string of characters into a data entry unit. "Bingo. Here it  
is." She punched another button, and a light appeared on Leia's holocomm unit signifying that a secure data transfer was in progress. Luke sent her another five thousand credits.

  
The decrypted version of the data appeared on the screen set into Leia's desk. They both read the heading and looked at each other in shock and surprise. 

* * * * * 

Mara saw the reaction, and wondered what had caused it. _Why would they react that way to data? _They each had a reputation of being almost impossible to surprise. Well, she could see why they had been surprised. She had a copy of the  
decrypted data. It would be easy enough to check out. She called it up, and began to read. She felt the blood drain from her face as she read the title.

  
'PROJECT OUTBOUND FLIGHT - MISSION REPORT'

  
_No, that's impossible! The Outbound Flight project was a total failure!_ Mara sat back in her chair, stunned. Now she understood why Skywalker and Organa Solo had reacted in the way that they had. She'd just reacted in a similar way - and she prided herself on being able to keep a close rein on her emotions. She briefly skimmed through the report. When she reached the end of the report, she knew - or thought she did, anyway - why the Imperials were staging such a massive force, why it was being staged in such a remote location, and why they had laid in supplies for such a long time. She looked up from the report just as Skywalker looked up from his copy. 

* * * * * 

Luke looked up from the report, his face pale, and said to Leia, "I think I know the reason behind the current Imperial activities."

  
"So do I, Skywalker, but I'll let you explain," Mara said grimly.

  
"What?" asked Leia.

  
"The simple version is this: the Imperials are probably planning to invade this planet, Terra."

  
"Why would they do that?" Leia asked.

  
"Because they know that if they stay in this galaxy, they've lost," Mara explained. "And Imperials hate to lose."

  
"She's right. And they're also sending us a message: you can keep this galaxy; we've got another one."

  
"We can't just let them get away with this!" Leia exclaimed angrily.

  
"But what can we do?" Luke asked. "Remember the trouble we had with the Yevethans a few years ago?" he waited until Leia nodded, then continued, "I was on Atzerri when the ultimatum was announced, and I overheard a conversation, or rather an argument, about what you had announced. One person was all in favour of your actions, while the other insisted that you should be put on trial for murder and treason if a single Fleet pilot died in the Koornacht Cluster."

  
"That's ridiculous! We can't just sit back and do nothing!"

  
"Remember the trouble you had persuading the Senate to let the Fleet go into the Koornacht Cluster in the first place? And that was a case of genocide on our own borders! How much support do you think you'll have if you decide to send the Fleet off to another galaxy?" Luke pointed out.

  
"I eventually sent the Fleet into Koornacht - straight to N'zoth in fact. When I declared war on the Yevetha, there was a standing ovation in the Senate."

  
"Only after a motion of no confidence was tabled in the Ruling Council. You were very lucky, Leia."

  
"But we've got to do _something_!"

  
"I'm not saying that we shouldn't, Leia, just that it'll be difficult," Luke said. Then he remembered that the connection to Mara was still open. "What do you think, Mara?"

  
"The Jedi Ambassador and the Chief of State of the New Republic are asking for my opinion. I'm flattered," Mara said dryly. "None of my business. And speaking of business, I've got one to run." 

  
Luke saw that she was about to reach for the 'end trans' switch, and said hastily, "I'm sure that a few profitable trade routes can be opened between the New Republic and Terra."

  
"That trick won't work, Skywalker. This call has cost me enough already." And she cut the connection before either Luke or Leia could reply.

  
"She has a point Luke. We've got to sort this one out ourselves," Leia said. 

Luke nodded reluctantly. What business did he have trying to drag Mara into New Republic business, anyway? Just then, the holocomm chirped, and the fishlike head of Admiral Ackbar, the Supreme Commander of the New Republic Armed Forces appeared. "Leia - Madame President - I have just received word that one of our patrols in the Pyria system has been attacked and probably destroyed." 

* * * * *  
Aboard the _Executor_-class Star Destroyer, the _Annihilator_, Daala remembered the last time she had been in command of a _Executor_-class. It had been the _Knight Hammer_. Her face twisted into a scowl as she remembered the fiasco at Yavin 4. She vowed not to let it happen to her again.  


"Admiral! Detectors are showing the transit of a large number of ships. Warship class," the sensor chief reported.  


Daala had decided to set her ambush in the Pyria system because it offered a direct route to Coruscant. The Rebels were bound to send patrols though it.

  
"Have the _Trapper _power up its generators." The _Trapper _was the _Interdictor_-class cruiser that had been assigned to her by Admiral Pellaeon. She intended to pull this group out of hyperspace and destroy it completely. Moments later, a group of ships flickered into existence. Two were the stubby organic-looking designs of the Mon Calamari Star Cruisers, while accompanying them were three Star Destroyers she recognised as _Republic_-class, with half-a-dozen Corellian Corvettes acting as escorts. She scowled. Not even a close match for her entire fleet.  


She had tried to decide between splitting her fleet up and keeping it together. If she split it up, she could hit more targets in a shorter time. But if she kept it together, she had more firepower at her disposal. She had opted to keep her fleet together; she loved the concept of having the maximum firepower possible available.  


"Pass word to all ships: the Star Cruisers are to be targeted first. The _Annihilator _will take the lead ship," she pointed to indicate which one she meant, "while the others will deal with the other one." She smiled tightly as turbolaser fire began to lance out from her ships towards the Rebel ships. This was going to be very easy. 

* * * * * 

Aboard the lead Star Cruiser, the Calamarian captain looked at his viewscreen in dismay. They had been cruising through hyperspace on a routine patrol of the approaches to Coruscant, preparing to drop back into realspace in the Pyria system, when they had been dragged out of hyperspace much to suddenly for it to be a pre-programmed event.

  
Then he had noticed the massive Imperial fleet waiting for him. _I don't think we're going to escape from this with our lives_, he thought gloomily as turbolaser fire from the _Executor_-class vessel began to impact on his shields. Because this was totally unexpected, it took a long time for the New Republic crews to return fire, by which time the shields on the two Star Cruisers had been eroded to a dangerously low level. "Make an emergency jump!" he shouted.  


"We can't sir! Gravimetric sensors are showing we're in a large gravity well!" the navigation officer shouted.  
_An Interdictor Cruiser_, the captain realised. _We're doomed_ But he vowed not to go down without a fight. "All ships, concentrate fire on the Super Star Destroyer!" 

* * * * * 

__

The Rebels have finally reacted, Daala thought grimly to herself. She noticed that all the Rebels' fire was concentrated on her ship. She laughed at their foolishness, knowing that the Annihilator's shields could hold out long enough for both of the Star Cruisers, which were the main threat, to be destroyed. As she watched, the shields on the second Star Cruiser collapsed, and fireballs began to appear on its hull, showing that direct hits were being scored. Before too long, escape pods began to spew from it as its crew decided to take their chances with their escape pods rather than go down with their ship. She ordered the rest of the fleet to begin to pick off the smaller ships as it exploded, flinging bits of metal in all directions, which were easily deflected by her shields. 

* * * * * 

"Shields have failed, Captain! Hull integrity lost in half of the decks!" the damage control officer shouted over the din of  
explosions.  


The captain flashed a glance at the damage control readouts, which confirmed what the officer had said. "Evacuate," he said, a sour taste in his mouth. "All hands abandon ship." _I hope the crew can get to the escape pods in time_, he thought  
grimly as he raced to one of the bridge escape pods. 

* * * * * 

Daala watched with a fierce exultation as the other Star Cruiser's shields collapsed, then the ship exploded. "Tell all gunners to pick their targets and fire at will," she said, then watched as the Rebel remnants were mopped up in a matter  
of minutes before sending her first report to Admiral Pellaeon. When receipt was acknowledged, she directed her fleet to jump to the rendezvous point she had selected in a remote region of the galaxy. Rebel reinforcements were bound to arrive  
soon, and in a strength too great for her to take on. 

* * * * * 

Pellaeon read Daala's first after-action report with satisfaction. He approved of her strategy to begin her strikes before he had left for his destination, as it would draw Rebel attention away from his more important mission. He activated his comm unit. "How long before we are ready to leave?"  


"About eight hours, Admiral."  


He sat back in his chair with satisfaction. Eight hours until Operation EXODUS began. Eight hours until the rebirth of the Empire commenced in another galaxy, free from Rebel interference. 

* * * * * 

Han Solo piloted the _Millennium Falcon_ through the rubble that was left after Daala's devastating attack. "She doesn't mess around, does she?" he asked Chewbacca, who was sitting in the co-pilot's seat, his usual spot. Chewie growled in  
agreement. Han had been asked by Leia to lead a search-and-rescue effort to recover any escape pods that may have been jettisoned during the fight. He noticed something odd. "No Imperial debris, though. Must have been an ambush, or Daala had overwhelming force on her side. I'd bet on the latter. She's not very subtle."  


Chewie whuffled and growled. "Or both. I can see a case for that point. She obviously wanted to pound this patrol into free atoms. Which she did." He piloted the _Falcon _around the battle area, taking sensor recordings while transports escorted by X-Wings moved from place to place, tracking emergency beacons from escape pods. The survivors would be debriefed on their return to Coruscant in an effort to find out what sort of force Daala had. 

* * * * * 

The body of the Calamarian captain hung suspended in a bacta tank in a recovery room in the Imperial Palace while Luke, Han, Leia and Admiral Ackbar watched on. Luke shuddered, remembering his own time in a bacta tank on Hoth after an encounter with a Wampa Ice Creature. "How long before he comes out of the tank?" Luke asked the Emdee-Nine medical droid.  


"Any minute now, Jedi Master."  


At that moment, the control panel for the bacta tank beeped, signifying that it had completed its task. "He will be ready to be debriefed in a few minutes," the medical droid said. 

* * * * * 

"An _Executor_-class?"  


The Calamarian captain nodded weakly. "We were dragged out of hyperspace by an Interdictor Cruiser and got pounded on in a big way."  


Luke was stunned. Not only was there a massive Imperial force headed towards this distant planet Terra, but Daala was roaming New Republic space with a fairly large strike fleet. Luke wanted to go to Terra's assistance as soon as possible, but he knew that it wouldn't be possible until the force commanded by Daala was hunted down. He knew that, even in hyperspace, it would take about six months to reach Terra, and he didn't want Pellaeon to get too much of a lead on any  
New Republic response force. He was willing to bet that Terra's defences would not be able to stand up to a full-fledged Imperial attack. For that matter, given the size of the fleet under Pellaeon's command, even Coruscant would be hard-pressed to stand up to a full-fledged attack.  


The debriefing soon ended, and Luke and the others left the room to allow the captain to rest.  


"That's a fine role reversal," Luke commented.

  
"What do you mean, Luke?"

  
"Daala's doing the same thing that we were before the battle of Endor, except that she's not really trying to bring down the New Republic the way we were trying to bring down the Empire."

  
"I hadn't really thought of it that way, but we do have more pressing matters to worry about."

  
"Yeah," Luke acknowledged. "Like, for instance, hunting this force down before it can cause too much trouble. Which is not going to be easy." A nice understatement. _Executor_-class vessels were, in effect, self-contained fleets which carried a massive amount of firepower. To date, the New Republic had only ever encountered five, and had somehow managed to kill three of them, but not before they caused a massive amount of damage.  


The _Executor_, which had died at Endor, had destroyed or severely damaged nearly a dozen Mon Calamari Star Cruisers by itself, and it had only been luck that it had died. The _Lusankya_, Ysanne Isard's personal ship, had devastated a large area of Coruscant before being cornered and surrendering at Thyferra. Zsinj's flagship, the _Iron Fist _had been killed by a fleet under Han's command, but it had taken some doing. Daala's flagship, the _Knight Hammer_, had been a _Executor_-class, but Callista had managed to destroy it - _single-handed!_ - before it had caused too much damage. The Yevethans had used one as well, the _Pride of Yevetha_, and had completely wiped out the populations of a dozen inhabited systems before being recaptured by its former owners at N'zoth.  


And now there were two new ones, plus the former _Pride of Yevetha _- now reverted to its original name, _Intimidator_; two headed for Terra under Pellaeon's command, and one more with Daala. "I believe we must first concentrate our efforts on hunting down Daala's strike fleet," Ackbar said.

  
Luke reluctantly agreed. Although every fibre of his being ached to go to the aid of the defenceless planet Terra, he knew that problems closer to home deserved priority. 

* * * * * 

Only minutes to go before the final, irrevocable step was taken. Pellaeon sat in the command chair of the _Chimaera_, and scanned displays showing the status of his fleet. He might have placed his flag on one of the _Executor_-class vessels, but for some reason that not even he was fully aware of, he had decided to stay with the rebuilt _Chimaera_. His attention was diverted by the chirping of his holocomm unit. "Yes?"

  
A quarter-size image of Daala appeared on the console before him. "Yes, Daala?"

  
"Before you left, I wanted to wish you the best of luck in you efforts," she said, bowing from the waist.

  
He stood and saluted crisply. "I wish you the same luck in your endeavours."

  
Daala bowed again, and ended the transmission. "All systems ready, Admiral," the nav officer called from the portside crew pit. Pellaeon returned to his seat and ordered, "Engage the hyperdrive." _Six months in hyperspace_, he thought. It would be the longest single trip he had ever made. Through the viewport, he watched as stars became starlines and the fleet vanished into hyperspace. 

* * * * * 

Daala considered her next move. She'd have to hit an important target now, to make sure that the Rebels' attention was well and truly diverted from Pellaeon. Where to hit?  


Coruscant? That'd certainly get the Rebel's attention, but she'd probably succeed _too_ well in getting attention.  


Yavin 4? No way. She'd tried that before, and it wasn't what anyone would call an unqualified success.  


Where else? She thought for a while, then abruptly sat up as she realised the perfect place. It would not be easy, but nothing really important ever was.

  
She opened a comm channel to the captains of the ships under command to order them to a briefing aboard her flagship.  
Target: the shipyards at Sluis Van. 

* * * * * 

__

This has got to be the most boring thing I have ever done.  


Colonel Corran Horn strode along the decks of the fighter bays in the Sluis Van shipyards. He knew that he had a higher rank than usual for an officer in command of a squadron of starfighters, but that tended to happen in elite units such as  
Rogue Squadron. Rationally, he knew that when the rotation came up, even Rogue Squadron had to take their turn at guard duty.  


That didn't mean that he had to like it, though.

  
Rogue Squadron had the most battle honours of any unit in the New Republic, dating all the way back to the pivotal battles of the Rebellion. Yavin - plus Death Star - , Hoth, Endor - another Death Star - , Bakura, Borlieas, Coruscant...  
A long list of battle honours; also a long list of those who had died while serving with Rogue Squadron.  


He was jolted out of his reverie by the sudden hooting of the battle alarms. He turned and ran back to the hangar bays, listening to the announcements. "All pilots, all ships scramble immediately. Imperial ships have entered the system. _Executor_-class, half-dozen _Imperial_-class, and a dozen _Victory_-class."  


Corran whistled under his breath as he leapt into the cockpit of his X-Wing. "Rogues, check in." He listened as all the pilots reported in. "The plan is, we go for the shield generators first. That should give us a chance to take them out. Got  
it?" Acknowledgements from the other pilots came in as Corran advanced his throttle and moved out of the hangar. "Lock S-foils into attack position." He reached up and hit the switch that opened the wings into the distinctive X-shape that gave the fighter its name. "Whistler, put up the closest capital ship." The R2 unit chirped, and the outline of a _Victory_-class ship appeared on his targeting monitor. "That's our target, Rogues," he said as he sent the targeting data to the rest of the squadron. "One Flight, we're going after the port generator," he continued as he highlighted the generator on his display. "Two Flight, you go after the starboard generator. Three Flight, you keep the eyeballs off our backs. Acknowledge."  


"Lead, this is Nine. You do realise that there's three squadrons of TIEs on that thing?"  


"Of course I do, Nine. But we're Rogues. We've killed Death Stars. After that, a handful of TIEs shouldn't pose too much of a problem."  


"I'm not saying that it is, Lead, just saying that we're gonna really improve on our kill scores today."

  
Corran laughed to hear such bravado. "That's the Rogue Squadron spirit. Let's go." To his droid, he said, "Hang on Whistler, this is going to be a bumpy ride." He ignored the answering squeal. 

Rogue squadron split off into its flights, then dove through the rapidly swelling cloud of TIEs, spitting multiple lasers to clear a path. They weren't really aiming at anything, but they managed to kill about a dozen TIEs, with another half-dozen colliding as they scrambled to get out of the way of the apparently suicidal squadron. 

__

The odds aren't good, but we've already managed to reduce this destroyer's complement of TIEs by half, so Three Flight should have it slightly easier. But then again, why should I care about odds anyway? he thought with a traditional Corellian's disdain for odds. "Okay, Five, go for it!" he ordered as he led One Flight in a diving turn, jinking and weaving in order to confuse the targeting computers as he headed towards his target. "Use proton torpedoes on this, One Flight." The targeting mark turned yellow, then red, and Whistler hummed his lock-on tone. "One Flight, Lead. Fire torpedoes!" Corran ordered as he tapped the firing stub twice. Two proton torpedoes streked away from his X-Wing,  
followed by another six from the rest of One Flight.  


They all slammed into the shields protecting the shield generator. It managed to hold up to the first couple of blasts, but collapsed to allow the rest through. The shield generator disintegrated in a spactacular explosion. Another explosion announced the demise of the starboard shield generator. Whistler hummed a requiem for the Star Destroyer's shields. Corran laughed. "That's right, Whistler. Bye-bye to the shields, and any hope of getting them back." He opened a link to the rest of the squadron. "How are you managing, Nine?"  


"We've vaped eight so far, and we should do the rest soon. Sorry, make that nine."

  
Corran grinned. "Okay then, I'll leave you to your fun, while the rest of us take care of this Star Destroyer." He turned back towards the bridge of the vessel. "Okay Rogues, lock onto the bridge and fire one torpedo each," he ordered, remembering the stories of how the _Executor _had died at Endor. He was planning to do something similar to this _Victory_-class, except he wasn't willing to sacrifice a starfighter in a suicide attack. He was planning to do the job with proton torpedoes instead. He got lock-on, tapped the firing button, and watched as eight proton torpedoes streaked towards the bridge of the Star Destroyer. He could imagine the panic on the bridge as the bridge crew watched their death approach them. 

  
With a spectacular fireball, the Star Destroyer was decapitated, with multiple secondary explosions spreading to encompass the entire ship as it careened out of control, slamming into an _Imperial_-class, before they both exploded. 

__

Two capital ships, for only twenty-four proton torpedoes. That's pretty good, even for Rogue Squadron. 

* * * * * 

Daala watched as the squadron of X-wings dove in at one of her _Victory_-class vessels. _They must be feeling suicidal_, she thought disdainfully. Her opinion changed sharply as the starfighters dodged the defensive fire and fired a barrage of proton torpedoes at both shield generators. She watched in horror as both generators exploded, then eight of the X-wings swooped around and fired more proton torpedoes into the unprotected bridge area. With its bridge destroyed, the destroyer went out of control and slammed into one of her _Imperial_-class vessels, with both being totally destroyed. The  
squadron regrouped and dived headlong into a group of TIE fighters, destroying most of them and scattering the survivors to be hunted down individually. "Find the identity of that squadron!" she snapped.

  
"We have long-range sensor data, Admiral," a sensor tech said. Daala moved over to the sensor station, as the tech displayed the image of an X-wing. The tech zoomed in on the image to display an insignia. It was the Rebel crest inside a  
twelve-pointed star, with an X-wing at each point. She looked at it in puzzlement. She'd never seen this particular insignia before. She summoned the captain of the _Annihilator_.

  
"Have you seen this insignia before, Colonel?" she asked him.

  
He sharply inhaled. "Rogue Squadron. The best starfighter squadron in the galaxy."

  
Daala nodded grimly. She knew the squadron's reputation. They had destroyed both Death Stars, been instrumental in the taking of Coruscant, and many other things. _I _knew_ that they had to be an elite squadron. After all, they _did_ destroy two of my capital ships_. She sighed. "Move the _Annihilator _in. It's about time we showed these Rebels how much firepower we really have."  


The colonel grinned ferally. "At your order, Admiral." 

* * * * * 

Corran was hot on the tail of a fleeing Interceptor, which was jinking and weaving in a desperate effort to get away from him, and having little success. Just as he was about to pull the trigger and vape the squint, Whistler screamed. Without thinking, Corran pulled the trigger and jinked sharply in a random direction. That was Whistler's extreme-danger signal, and he never used that without good cause.

  
The squint was converted into a vapour cloud, and in the space where Corran's X-Wing had been a split-second before, a massive amount of green turbolaser fire streaked. _Lucky for me that I moved in a hurry_, Corran thought. _I'd be a cloud of free-floating atoms_. "Find out who fired that blast, Whistler," Corran ordered, fully intending to kill the offending vessel. That idea died a rapid death when the data appeared on his screen. 

It was a _Executor_-class vessel, identified by its transponders as the _Annihilator_.

  
_Not good. With a _Executor_-class backstopping them, the odds have shifted dramatically in the Imps' favour_. He spared a second to take a quick glance around. The battle was not going in favour of the New Republic. Already, half of the capital ships assigned to guard the shipyards had been destroyed, with another Gunship exploding in a spectacular series of secondary explosions. The starfighter squadrons had also taken a hiding. As Corran watched, a squadron of A-Wings tried to repeat Rogue Squadron's run on a Star Destroyer. 

They were good, but just not good enough. One by one, they were picked off, either by the Star Destroyer's defensive weapons, or the swarming TIE's. Only a handful survived to fire their proton torpedoes at the shield generators, and the  
shields managed to handle the blasts. Corran could imagine their frustration at having fallen just short of success as the survivors were hunted down. 

  
Whistler squealed a warning. Corran looked at his sensor screen. More TIEs were joining the fight. Four more wings, to be exact. This was turning out to be a very bad day. 

* * * * * 

General Wedge Antillies settled into the command chair of the Star Cruiser _Freedom _as the rest of the bridge crew, some of who had no idea why they had suddenly been recalled and sent on an emergency mission, streamed into the bridge. Wedge opened a link to the rest of the battle group that was forming around Coruscant. "All right, people, we've got an emergency at Sluis Van. Apparently the Imps have hit the shipyard, and hit it hard. I don't know what the situation is, but I'm assuming the worst, since the distress message was cut off pretty quickly. Let's go."  


"Jump computations will be ready in sixty seconds, General."

  
Wedge nodded. There wasn't much he could do to make the preparations go any faster. He just hoped that Sluis Van could hold on until the relief force arrived. 

* * * * * 

Daala was satisfied with how things were progressing. The Rebel defending force had taken a pounding, and severe damage had been inflicted on the base itself. If it wasn't for that annoying Rogue Squadron defying all attempts to kill it,  
the battle would have been perfect for her. Rogue Squadron had always had a reputation for apparent invincibility, but she had never really believed it.

  
Until now.

  
She watched as a full wing of TIEs dived onto them. The X-Wings scattered into pairs, confusing the TIE pilots, who hesitated for a crucial second as they worked out who went after who. That was long enough for the X-Wings to swoop around and savage the formation with laser and proton torpedo fire. All unit cohesion vanished in a nanosecond as the survivors scattered and were hunted down individually by X-Wings operating as pairs. She allowed herself a tight smile as the Escort Frigate the _Annihilator _was concentrating on exploded.

  
_Rogue Squadron may be invincible, but starfighters by themselves can't win battles against capital ships_.

  
The smile slipped from her face as she watched Rogue Squadron decimate another TIE wing before swooping down on one on her four remaining _Imperial_-class vessels.

  
_Or can they?_

* * * * * 

"Okay Rogues, we're going after big game again. How many proton torps have you got left?"

  
Corran listened as each of the pilots reported in. _Incredible. We've lost no-one, and vaped an incredible number of TIEs. The Force is _definitely_ with us today_. They had enough proton torpedoes left to dust another capital ship. "Okay  
Whistler, pick a ship." An image of the _Annihilator_ appeared on the screen. "Ha, ha, Whistler, very funny. Now pick one that we actually have a chance of killing without getting ourselves killed."

  
Whistler tooted apologetically, and the image changed to an _Imperial_-class vessel, along with intercept data. "Send it to the rest of the squadron." He opened a link to the rest of the squadron. "Okay, Rogues, that's our target. Three passes for this one. First two, we pick off the defending fighters, the we go for the big one." He listened as the Rogues acknowledged. _The battle may be going badly for the New Republic, but we're doing our bit to keep it alive long enough for help to arrive._

* * * * * 

Wing Commander Erisi Dlarit was shaken. The reason: Rogue Squadron was here. The unit she had betrayed during the operation to take Coruscant, and who never forgave or forgot. She had escaped them by the skin of her teeth at Thyferra, and she still had no idea how she had survived when her Interceptor had slammed into Thyferra's largest moon. The last thing that she remembered was the impact of Corran's shots slamming into the rear of her fighter.

  
She also knew that if the Rogues knew she was here, they would take great delight in hunting her down. Particularly Corran Horn, who was now in command. Which was pretty understandable, considering that she had used her Imperial contacts to try and get Mirax Terrik - her then-rival for Corran's affections, now his wife - killed. _If I was in his place, I'd probably do the same thing, _she thought, as she chased a fleeing B-Wing into oblivion. 

* * * * * 

"How much longer until we arrive?"  


"ETA is about thirty minutes, General."  


Wedge nodded. Not that he could do anything else. There was nothing he could do to make the relief force go any faster. _It's not like I can get out and push_, Wedge thought as he watched the seconds roll away on the countdown clock. Each  
seemed to take a full minute to pass. 

* * * * * 

Corran pulled the trigger, and an eyeball became vapour. "Okay, Rouges, that's it for the fighters. Now we go for the mamma ship," he said as he brought the X-Wing around in a long, sweeping curve. "One minor change from last time. One Flight is cover. Two Flight is starboard generator. Three Flight, port generator. Let's go."  


He watched as the eight X-Wings dove towards their target. "Whistler, see if you can find the com frequency that the Imps are using. I might learn something interesting from it." Whistler tooted, and went silent as he operated the X-Wing's com scanners.  


__

If we can find the frequency, and if Whistler can break the encryption algorithm, we'll be able to get advance warning of what the Imps are planning.  


He watched Two and Three Flights dive in and fire their proton torpedoes, with the same results as the last time. "Lead, Two here. We've got company. Twelve squints and twenty-four eyeballs." Just then, the bridge exploded under a hail of  
proton torpedoes.   


"Rogues, form up. We're going to add to our kill scores," he ordered as he led One Flight towards the TIE Wing, and Two and Three Flights formed up rapidly on either side. Whistler tootled triumphantly as he broke the Imperial encryption  
code. "Good work, Whistler. Listen in, and let me know if you find anything interesting." 

* * * * * 

Erisi watched as the _Enforcer_'s bridge exploded. _Just too late_. Then her sensors beeped. She glanced at her sensor screen and her eyes widened in amazement as they reported that a squadron of X-Wings was moving towards her wing in  
an attack formation. _That's gotta be Rogue Squadron. For anyone else this would be a suicidal move_. "Break into your pairs," she ordered over the radio, "and cover each other. That's Rogue Squadron, and we've been given a chance to kill them."  


The TIEs scattered as the pairs picked targets and moved to engage them. "Two, hang back in cover," Erisi radioed as  
she moved to engage a New Republic X-Wing. 

* * * * * 

As Corran lead Rogue Squadron towards the TIE wing, he noticed that they were breaking into pairs. _This bunch is better than the average TIE wing. We've got to be cautious here_. "Be careful, Rogues. This lot appears to be better than usual." Just then Whistler squealed and hooted in excitement and agitation. "What is it, Whistler?"  


The droid hooted. "I realise you've picked up something of interest, but what?"

  
One of his data monitors cleared and a picture began to form. _That can't be!_ Corran thought as he recognised the picture even before it was complete. It was a very familiar picture of a very familiar person.  


Erisi Dlarit.  


__

I thought we got her at Thyferra! Corran's mind whirled in confusion. He thought hack to that day at Thyferra, when he had watched Erisi's Interceptor slam into Thyferra's largest moon. He switched his comm to the Imperial frequency.  


"Erisi, you traitorous bitch, I'm going to take great pleasure in hunting you down and killing you today," he shouted.

  
"Corran?" he heard Erisi's familiar voice reply.

  
"The one and only. When you escaped us at Thyferra you only delayed the inevitable."

  
"And you think you're good enough to get me?" she taunted, some of her old arrogance returning to her voice as she recovered from the shock of hearing Corran's voice again.

  
"You bet. I was better than you when we were both in Rogue Squadron, and I'm still better than you now." Erisi said nothing. Instead she ordered her wing to change to an alternate frequency and encryption sequence.

Changing the comm frequency back to Rogue Squadron's channel, Corran ordered, "Right, here we go!" as he lead the squadron in a mad charge directly into the middle of the TIE formation, spitting laser fire in a dense pattern in front of  
them. The TIEs jinked, but a half-dozen were taken out before they could react. Then the two sides met, and a tangled dogfight began.   


Picking out a squint just in front of him, Corran moved into position to engage it, while his wingman hung back to cover. Just as he was about to vape his target, two squints dived on his wingman. "Break, Two!" he shouted into the comm, but it was too late. Rogue Two jinked desperately, but still absorbed most of the hail of fire that was sent its way. With its shields gone, it quickly exploded.  


__

Our first loss, Corran thought savagely, vaping his target before turning on his wingman's killers. _Too late to save her, but not too later to _avenge_ her_. 

* * * * * 

Erisi exulted in her kill. Then she noticed that the lead X-Wing had turned around and was attacking her and her wingman. _That's Corran! _she thought anxiously, as her wingman exploded in a ball of flame. She pulled the trigger, but Corran  
managed to somehow dodge most of the fire, with only a few minor hits to his shields. She moved into a position to attack again, but she noticed something that made her pause.  


New Republic warships were exiting hyperspace. A lot of them.  


Fighters were already boiling from the hangar bays like a swarm of angry insects. A quick glance around the battle area showed that the Imperial fighters had taken heavy losses - _A lot of them due to Rogue Squadron_, she thought - and were now outnumbered. Just then, her comm beeped. "All fighters, return to your ships. Five minutes until hyperspace jump." Breaking off from her attack, she reefed her Interceptor around in a hard turn and streaked back towards the _Annihilator_. _Time to go_. 

* * * * * 

Daala watched as the New Republic reinforcements flooded into the system.  


__

We've done all we can here. No need to stay any longer. She turned to the nav officer. "How long until the hyperspace computations are complete?"  


"Three minutes, Admiral."  


Daala nodded. It would be at least six minutes before even the New Republic fighters got within range. She was already deciding where to hit next, tallying up the losses sustained in this battle, when the nav officer's startled squawk made her turn around abruptly. "Admiral! Gravimetric sensors showing a large abnormal gravity shadow! Interdictor cruisers!"  
Daala cursed, fluently and vilely. They were in trouble. 

* * * * * 

Wedge looked on in satisfaction as the rest of his relief force appeared all around him.  


Including three Interdictor cruisers, which moved with their escorts to cover the Imperial battle group with their gravity well projectors _We've got you now, Daala_. He watched as his fighters streaked forward to engage the TIEs, who had been heading back to their ships, but now reversed course as their orders were changed. 

"It's about damned time," came a familiar voice over the comm.

  
"That you, Corran?" Wedge replied, moving to the comm station.

  
"I thought it might be you, Wedge - oops, sorry, General Antilles, sir." Wedge grinned as he imagined the smirk on Corran's face. "Only a Corellian would do something like this. Oops, sorry. Can't stay and chat. I'm rather busy at the  
moment." 

* * * * * 

Daala was thinking furiously. _The advantage has shifted. As things are now, we can't jump out of here. Those Interdictor Cruisers have got to go_. She turned to the _Annihilator_'s captain. "Order the _Avenger _and the _Imperium _to follow us. We're going after the Rebel Interdictors." 

  
The two _Imperial_-class vessels broke from the battle formation and followed the _Annihilator _as it began to move towards the nearest New Republic Interdictor. 

* * * * * 

Corran was starting to get tired, but he was still determined to get Erisi. _Can't let my anger get the best of me_, he thought. _Don't want to fall victim to the Dark Side_. Corran had completed his Jedi training, fulfilling the promise made to Luke Skywalker after the Rogues had broken up the PCF after the liberation of Coruscant. _This isn't about revenge. It's about justice_.  


He took a deep breath, and relaxed fully and relaxed fully into the Force. Filtering through the background sense, he  
quickly identified Erisi's squint, and quickly dropped onto her tail. She immediately began throwing her Interceptor around in an attempt to shake him, but to no avail. Dodging a Jedi Knight when he has his mind set on nailing you is near-impossible.  


After a short chase, he began to pump laser fire into Erisi's suint, which exploded in a spectacular ball of flames. _And no  
miraculous escapes for her this time_, Corran thought as he returned his full attention to the battle raging all around him.  


Voices spilled through his comm. "Break, Four!"  


"I can't! He's on me too tight! I need some help here..." The voice was cut off mid-sentence with a squawk of static.

  
"Watch it, Seven! Two on your tail!"

  
"Where? Where are they? I can't see them! I can't..."

  
The realisation hit Corran like a thunderbolt. _We've been dogfighting now for near on an hour. We're starting to get tired, and that's allowing the Imps to start killing us. _"Watch it, Lead! Three squints heading your way!" 

  
Corran dived back into the Force. A short time later, with all three squints converted into rapidly expanding clouds of debris, Corran checked the status of the squadron. _Another one went down while I was dealing with those squints, which means our strength is now eight. Not good, but better off than most, I think._

  
Then a frantic voice screamed over the emergency frequency. "This is the Interdictor Cruiser _Corusca Rainbow_! Mayday! _Executor_-class and two Impstar Deuces headed straight for us! We need help and we need it now!"  


Corran didn't need to know where the _Corusca Rainbow _was. He could see the _Annihilator _and two Impstars moving. "C'mon Rogues, we gotta help them."

  
"How, Corran? We don't have any torps left!" 

  
Corran checked his weapon status displays and swore. "We can take down the shield generators so the Interdictor's escorts can do some damage."  


"WHAT!?!" came the reply from virtually every surviving Rogue at once.

  
"Rogue Squadron may be able to do the impossible, but that's a bit much, even for us," one of the Rogues protested.

  
_She's right_. Corran realised. He knew that their kills against the capital ships had been largely due to luck. _Of course, as a Jedi, I should believe that there's no such thing as luck, just the Force_. He thought for a while. _If Daala manages to take the Interdictors out of play, she can escape. Trouble is, we don't have anything that can really stop her from doing so_.

  
He quickly scanned the battlefield. Missile and turbolaser salvos were being exchanged between the _Annihilator _and its two escorts and the New Republic ships. _That's how we stopped the Lusankya_, Corran remembered. _But we took heavy losses doing it_. The same was happening here. The focus of the Imperial fire shifted to the _Corusca Rainbow _as it came within range. Almost immediately, Whistler beeped as he detected the interdiction field coming down. _They're not just going after the _Rainbow, Corran realised, _but after _all _of our Interdictors_. 

* * * * 

Daala grinned as the interdiction field went down. "Are the hyperspace computations done?" she called out to the nav officer.

  
"Complete and ready to go, Admiral."

  
Daala nodded. "Go to hyperspace. We've done all we can here."

  
The surviving ships of Daala's strike fleet went into hyperspace, leaving behind a destroyed base and a New Republic force that had taken heavy losses. 

* * * * 

Corran wiped a hand across a sweaty brow as he was escorted to Wedge's quarters aboard the _Freedom_. _That fight must have taken more out of me than I thought_.

  
As they reached the door, the escorting officer pressed a button on the wall. "Yes?" 

"Excuse me, sir, but Colonel Horn is here to see you."

  
"Very well. Send him in."

  
When Corran walked through the door, he was surprised by who he saw. _What is this, a Rogue Squadron reunion?_ he though as he recognised Tycho Celchu, Gavin Darklighter, Asyr Sei'lar, Inyri Forge, Rhysati Ynr, and Pash Craken. 

  
He walked over to shake Wedge's hand. "Wedge, it's been far too long."

  
"Likewise, Corran."

  
"I hope you don't take offence, but I've gotta say that scrapping the astromechs in the X-wings was a really dumb move. What made you do that?"

  
"That was something that was brought home to me in a big way when detonators were found in the new computers. Never mind that, though. I'm glad to see you survived. Too many didn't."

  
"Yeah, that was something I noticed on my way in."

  
"And the Rogues lived up to their reputation once again, I see. Two Impstar Deuces and a _Victory_-class. Plus however many TIEs you racked up. Very well done."

  
"Zraii's gonna use up a lot of paint adding them to our X-wings." Corran grinned. "Tell me, something, Wedge. Is the _Corrupter _still on your X-wing?"

  
"You bet. How many kills did you get out there today?"

  
"I'd have to ask Whistler for the exact number, but it was somewhere in the vicinity of twenty to thirty. And speaking of, you'll never guess who I ran into out there."

  
Wedge's eyes narrowed. "Who?"

  
"Erisi."

  
A cold silence filled the room. "Hang on," Tycho said. "Erisi, as in Erisi Dlarit? _That_ Erisi?"

  
Corran nodded. "As hard as it seems to believe, yes."

  
"Hang on a minute," Asyr interjected. "You shot her down at Thyferra. Most of us saw her Interceptor crash into Thyferra's largest moon."

  
"I know, Asyr, I couldn't believe it myself. But Whistler made a positive ID on her voiceprint. If it wasn't Erisi, it was someone whose voice had _exactly_ the same voiceprint."

  
Asyr shook her head. "I still can't believe it."

  
"Yeah, but she ain't gonna make another miraculous escape unless someone goes around and picks up all the pieces. And very small pieces they're gonna be. But never mind that. What have you all been up to since I saw you all last?"

  
They were in the thick of bringing each other up to date on each other's activities, when the comm chirped. "Excuse me," Wedge said to the others. "Antillies."

  
"Sorry to interrupt, General, but we've got an unidentified ship coming into the system." Wedge heard an audible gulp over the comm. "It's an Impstar Deuce... but there's something strange about the power levels. It doesn't appear to have most of its weapons." The puzzlement was obvious in the young tech's voice. "One moment... its transponders identify it as the _Errant Venture_."

  
Everyone in the room laughed at that. "It seems Booster can't stay out of the action," Wedge commented lightly. "Open a channel. Full visual."

  
"Yessir. Channel open now, sir. Full audio-visual engaged."

  
"Booster, you old pirate. It seems you can't stay away, can you?"

  
The face that appeared in the holo field wasn't that of Booster Terrik, though. "Nice guess, Wedge, but wrong. Oh, by the way, allow me to pass on belated congratulations on you being promoted to General."

"Thanks, Mirax. And does your father know you've borrowed the Star Destroyer?"

  
Mirax laughed lightly and glanced around furtively. "Do you promise not to tell?" she asked with a grin.

  
"Mirax, if your father hasn't noticed that it's missing, then he should have his eyes checked." Wedge noticed Corran standing just outside the transceiver's field of view frantically trying to get his attention and grinned. "I think there's someone here who wants to talk to you," he said, gesturing to Corran for him to step forward.

  
"Corran! When I saw all those wrecks as I was coming in, I thought..." Mirax's voice trailed off, unable to voice her worst fears.

  
Corran smiled gently. "Well, I'm not, so you don't have to worry about a thing."

  
Just then, Wedge's secondary comm screen lit up. "Message from NRDF Headquarters, sir. Both Colonel Horn and yourself are to report to Coruscant as soon as possible for debriefing."

  
"Understood, Lieutenant. Have the nav section carry out the hyperspace computations immediately," Wedge told the comm officer. 

"Right away, sir," the officer said, and cut the signal. Wedge turned to the other comm screen, where Corran and Mirax were deep in conversation. "I'm sorry to have to break this up, but Corran is needed back at Coruscant for debriefing. If you want, Mirax, you can follow us and continue this conversation after Corran is finished with the debriefers."

  
Mirax nodded. "Okay. I'm not particularly happy about it, but I suppose, I've got to put up with it." 

* * * * 

At a remote region of the galaxy, Admiral Daala was also conducting a debriefing. "I believe we've accomplished our mission of diverting the Rebels from Admiral Pellaeon's mission. Therefore, in accordance with his orders, I will now take us to Earth, to reinforce his fleet."

  
She looked down the table at her assembled ship commanders. _Not as many here as there were for the last briefing_, she thought. Although they had inflicted heavy losses on the Rebels, they had taken significant casualties themselves. She had only three _Victory_-class and one _Imperial _class vessels, plus the _Annihilator_. Most of her fighters had also been destroyed, too. If they stayed here, they would only be hunted down and killed, for little or no gain. Definitely time to go.

  
The captain of the _Imperium_, her last remaining _Imperial_-class, spoke up. "Admiral, do we have enough supplies for such an extended voyage? From my understanding, the voyage to Terra would take four to six months."

  
Daala grimaced. It was a good question, and deserved an honest answer. "No, we don't. Therefore, we are going to have to stop at one of the Core worlds and stock up."

  
The _Imperium_'s captain nodded. It was the answer he had been expecting. 

* * * * 

"And that's when the relief force arrived."

  
Corran was giving his account of the Battle of Sluis Van. He was feeling slightly intimidated, for the debriefers not only included Admiral Ackbar, Supreme Commander of the New Republic Defence Forces, but General Han Solo, and most  
intimidating of all, the Commander-in-Chief, President Leia Organa Solo. _Not even after the liberation of Thyferra did we have such a high-level audience_.

  
President Organa Solo spoke up. "You were saying, Colonel, that Rogue Squadron managed to take out three capital ships?"

  
"Yes, Madame President."

  
The President smiled. "Once again, Rogue Squadron lives up to its reputation." She turned to Wedge and asked, "What happened after you arrived, General?"

  
"I deployed the Interdictors assigned to me to cover the Imp battle group with the gravity well projectors, and ordered all ships to launch fighters. We started shooting at Imp ships, they started shooting at us, and then Daala started going after the Interdictors. She managed to kill two of them, and the surviving one took off, and the Imp fleet took off into hyperspace. Simplified, but that's what happened."

  
"And what sort of losses did you take, General?"

  
As Wedge began to list the losses suffered by both the Sluis Van garrison and the New Republic relief force, Corran began to think about where Daala could have gone. There was a very short list of options, with Byss being at the top of the list, and the Core systems filling out the rest of the list. His attention was brought back to the debriefing when the President said, "I think it's safe to say that we were lucky in this one. If Rogue Squadron hadn't been at the shipyards, the  
battle would have been over a lot quicker with a rather different result. Another New Republic Presidential Unit Citation would be in order for such courage."

  
Corran didn't know what to say, so he said nothing. And with that, the debriefing was over. 

As Corran and Wedge stood to leave, Corran said to Wedge, "Mirax and I are going to find a tapcafe to get some lunch. You're welcome to join us if you want."

  
"Thanks, Corran. I just might take you up on that offer." 

* * * * 

Byss. Throne world of the Emperor Palpatine, and the staging ground from where the resurrected Emperor had launched his forces in his effort to regain control of the galaxy. After the final death of Palpatine, and the destruction of both the Galaxy Gun and the _Eclipse_, Byss' importance had steadily dwindled, until it had become little more than a backwater, with fond memories of its time of importance in galactic affairs.

  
This was where Daala had come to gather supplies for her trip to Terra. Normally, this would be a suicidal move, as  
Byss used to be one of the most heavily fortified planets in the galaxy. But successive warlords had systematically stripped Byss of its defences, until only a skeleton defence was left. So, when Daala had appeared with the remnants of her strike fleet, she was able to intimidate the planet's rulers into giving her enough supplies to complete her journey. 

* * * * 

"Admiral, I have an update for you."

  
Daala turned to see the commander of the _Annihilator_, who was also filling the role of Executive Officer for the strike feet, standing behind her. "Yes, Colonel Cresmin?"

  
"After reorganising the TIE wings, I have been able to give each of our vessels three-quarters of their normal complements. We have also been able to recruit from the surface to replace casualties suffered during the battle. Each vessel's XO has given me a training program which they plan to implement while we are in hyperspace."

  
"Excellent, Colonel. How is the provisioning going?"

  
Cresmin checked his datapad. "On schedule. We should be fully stocked with an adequate reserve within 72 hours."

  
Daala nodded in approval. Cresmin had proved himself to be an excellent officer and more than adequate for the role of XO. She'd been blessed with her seconds-in-command in the past. First Kratas, then Pellaeon and Cronus, and now Cresmin. More than once, she had wondered what would have happened if more officers had been like him. She had heard the stories about what had happened after the _Executor _had died at Endor, killing most of the Empire's best junior and mid-level officers. If they had survived...

  
She shook off that train of thought. It was in the past, and there was no point on dwelling on might-have-beens. She had a mission to complete, and she would put 150% into completing it. Cresmin was still standing before her, waiting for any new orders. "Carry on, Colonel."

  
Cresmin saluted and left to complete his tasks. 

* * * * 

"So Mirax, how has your father been keeping himself occupied these days?"

  
Corran, Mirax and Wedge were discussing various topics over lunch. Suddenly, a shadow fell over the table. All three spun around to see Luke standing in front of them. "I thought I might find you here, Wedge."

  
"Master Skywalker!" Corran said, surprised. _Damn. I should have been able to sense him coming_.

  
_Don't worry, Corran. Over the years, I've learned how to make myself invisible to the Force_.

  
_Thanks_.

  
"Luke!" Wedge said. "It's been a long time."

  
"Indeed it has, Wedge. Mind if I join you?"

  
"No, of course not," Corran said. Luke pulled up a chair and sat down. The conversation turned to current events.  
"I hear Rogue Squadron covered itself with glory at Sluis Van," Luke said. "Two Impstar Deuces and a _Victory_-class. Impressive."

  
Corran made a depreciating gesture. "We got lucky." He held up a hand to forestall Luke. "I know, 'there's no such thing as luck, just the Force', but we _were_ lucky. Lucky to get the kills we did, and lucky to have only suffered fairly light losses."

  
"Light?" Mirax asked. "I'd hardly call one-third 'light'."

  
"Yeah, but I saw three squadrons wiped out completely, and overall fighter losses were about three-quarters. I'd say we were lucky."

  
"Luke, I've heard about Pellaeon finding mission data from the Outbound Flight project. I've also heard about his plans for using it. Do you know what the New republic's response is going to be?" Wedge asked.

  
"No idea, Wedge. This situation is going to be even more of a tangled mess than the Black Fleet Crisis a few years back. At least those events were happening on our borders, rather than in another galaxy," Luke replied

  
"A tangled mess, indeed," Mirax observed.

  
"Actually, I was thinking about going to Terra with a few Jedi to see what assistance we could offer," Luke said.

  
"Trolling for volunteers, Luke?" Corran asked with a grin.

  
"Not particularly, Corran. And I wouldn't think of asking you anyway."

  
"Why not?" Corran asked indignantly.

  
Luke pointed at Mirax. "Reason number one. And the second reason is your duties to the Fleet. You're the CO of Rogue Squadron. I wouldn't ask you to give that up."

  
"Okay, I see your point. First, Mirax would probably insist on coming with us." Mirax nodded at that. Corran continued, "And also, I could probably pull a few strings and have Rogue Squadron released for assignment with you. Wouldn't it be nice to have an elite squadron of starfighters with you?"

  
"I'm forced to admit that the concept is attractive." Luke looked at Wedge. "What do you think?"

  
"I agree with you, Luke. And as commander of the Starfighter Corps, I can cut those orders. The only remaining hurdle is getting them past the President, but..."

  
"But since the President is my sister, I can persuade her," Luke finished.

  
Corran grinned. "Nice to see we can work things out so quickly. Where do I submit my wish list? I feel it's fair to warn you that it's going to be fairly lengthy."

  
"To me, Corran. Right here, right now, if you want," Wedge said.

  
Corran thought for a while. "Two squadron's worth of X-wings. A _lot_ of spare parts for when they break. Reloads of proton torpedoes, and lots of them. X-wing and TIE simulators, twelve of each, for training on the way. That's basically it for now, but I'll let you know if I come up with anything else."

  
Wedge nodded. "I'll get the Quartermaster section working on it as soon as possible."

  
Mirax leaned forward. "It also sounds like you'll need a ship to take you there," she said with an impish grin.

  
Corran sat up abruptly. "You mean the _Errant Venture_?" Seeing Mirax nod, he continued, "Mirax, what is your father going to say? I don't think he'd be too impressed if you borrowed the Star Destroyer for as long as this trip is going to  
take."

  
"I simply won't ask him, I'll just tell him and let him deal with it from there."

  
"That isn't something that I want to be around to see," Corran said with a shudder. "Anyway, I've got to go ask my pilots if they want to come. With the voyage being as long as it is, it'll be a volunteer-only mission."

  
"Knowing the Rogues like I do," said Mirax, "I won't be too surprised if everyone volunteers."

  
"That's probably what's going to happen," Corran said in agreement. 

* * * * 

"I honestly don't know why you're asking me, Luke. The Jedi Order doesn't fall under the authority of the New Republic government."

  
"The Jedi Order doesn't," Luke agreed. "But Rogue Squadron _does_, and they've volunteered to accompany me to Terra. That's why I'm asking you."

  
Leia nodded, scrolling through a report produced by the NRDF Planning and Operations Directorate stating which forces should be sent to Terra. She still had to get that plan through the Senate, which wasn't something she looked forward to, given the twin facts that it had taken a lot of cajoling to send the Fleet into Koornacht and former Imperials now represented a lot of the New Republic's member worlds. "How are you going to get to Terra, Luke? The Jedi Academy doesn't have any ships large enough for the supplies that you're going to need, _or_ to hold a squadron of X-wings."

  
"That's been taken care of. The wife of Rogue Squadron's commanding officer has offered her ship."

  
"How big is it?"

  
"Big enough. It's an Impstar Deuce."

  
Leia's jaw dropped. "How did she get hold of one of those?"

  
"It surrendered to her father during Rogue Squadron's private war against Ysanne Isard."

  
Leia nodded again. "I see you have everything figured out. I can see no reason why Rogue Squadron shouldn't be allowed to go with you."

  
"Thanks, Leia."

  
"One thing dealt with. Now all I have to do is to get my assistance package for Terra through the Senate."

  
Luke shuddered. "I don't even want to _think _about that." 

* * * * 

It was time. Admiral Daala settled into the command chair of the _Annihilator _and nodded at Colonel Cresmin. "Let's be on our way, Colonel."

  
"As you order, Admiral."

  
Stars flared into starlines as the task force leapt into hyperspace, on its way to Terra and to join up with Pellaeon's fleet.


	2. Exodus Part 2

****

EXODUS - Part 2  
_by Robert Cox (smeghead@ix.net.au)_

This is part two of my fanfic. Don't ask me how many parts there are going to be, because I haven't figured that out yet. I am hoping to get this story wrapped up in three or four parts, though.

Disclaimers: See part one. I'm too lazy to type 'em all in again.

IT IS FIFTEEN YEARS AFTER THE BATTLE OF ENDOR. THE   
NEW REPUBLIC IS WINNING IN ITS WAR AGINST THE  
EMPIRE.

ADMIRAL PELLAEON, HAVING DISCOVERED DATA FROM THE  
OUTBOUND FLIGHT PROJECT, HAS LAUNCHED AN INVASION  
FLEET AT TERRA, GAMBLING EVERYTHING ON BEING ABLE  
TO SUBDUE TERRA'S DEFENCES BEFORE THE NEW PEBULIC  
CAN INTERVENE. ADMIRAL DAALA, COVERING HIS MOVE,  
HAS LAUNCHED A MASSIVE ATTACK ON THE SHIPYARDS AT  
SLUIS VAN BEOFRE LEAVING FOR TERRA HERSELF.  


JEDI MASTER LUKE SKYWALKER HAS DECIDED TO LEAD A  
MISSION TO OFFER THE TERRANS WHATEVER ASSISTANCE HE  
CAN OFFER. COLONEL CORRAN HORN, JEDI KNIGHT AND  
COMMANDER OF ROGUE SQUADRON, HAS VOLUNTEERED TO GO  
WITH HIM. PRESIDENT LEIA ORGANA SOLO MUST NOW GET  
THE SENATE'S APPROVAL FOR AN OFFICAL RELIEF MISSION.

It was a familiar nightmare, but one that had not visited her for a long time now.

__

"Princess Leia, before your execution I would like you to be my guest at a ceremony that will make this battle station operational. No star system will dare oppose the Emperor now," a tall, slim man with thinning blonde hair was saying.

"The more you tighten your grip, Tarkin, the more stars systems will slip through your fingers," Leia shot back defiantly. She didn't really know what was about to happen, but she didn't like the situation.

"Not after we demonstrate the power of this station." Grand Moff Tarkin turned away and began to walk towards the viewscreen. "In a way, you have determined the choice of the planet that will be destroyed first. Since you are reluctant to provide us with the location of the Rebel base, I have chosen to test this station's destructive power... on your home planet of Alderaan."

Alderaan! No!_ She lunged forward without even realising it, only to be brought up short by Vader's hand on her shoulder. "No! Alderaan is peaceful. We have no weapons. You can't possibly..."_

Tarkin abruptly whirled around. "You would prefer another target? A military target? Then name the system!" Tarkin's voice dropped in volume, but was still menacing. "I grow tired of asking this, so it will be the last time. Where is the Rebel base?"

Leia's head whirled. Betray the Rebellion and save her home planet? Or save the Rebellion and doom her homeworld? Then an idea occurred to her... maybe, just maybe, she could save both.

"Dantooine," she whispered, lowering her head. "They're on Dantooine." She hoped that by lying and giving the location of an old base, she could save both Alderaan and the Rebellion.

Tarkin appeared satisfied, which gave Leia some hope. He said to Vader, "There. You see Lord Vader, she can be reasonable."

Then all hope was crushed when Tarkin said to Admiral Motti, "Continue the operation. You may fire when ready."

"WHAT??" Leia nearly shouted, abruptly bringing her head up.

"You're far too trusting. Dantooine is too remote to make an effective demonstration. But don't worry. We will deal with your rebel friends soon enough," Tarkin said, almost smugly.

"No..." Leia almost moaned, as she realised that she had failed to save Alderaan. She watched in helpless horror as the planet-destroying superlaser beam lanced out and struck Alderaan, blasting it into small fragments...

That was when she abruptly sat upright, barely choking back a scream. "No!"

The abruptness of Leia's motion startled the person lying next to her. "Wassup, Leia?" Han asked sleepily.

"Nothing. I just had a nightmare, that's all."

"Alderaan?" Han asked, wide awake now. Leia nodded. "You haven't had that dream in a long time. Why start again now?"

"It must be the thought of that massive Imperial fleet headed towards Terra, which is, basically, a defenceless planet."

"You're putting too much faith in the old Outbound Flight data," Han said. "It was written, what fifty years ago? Fifty years is a long time, Leia."

"I keep trying to tell myself that, but I still can't shake the feeling that unless we do something, Terra is going to be overrun very quickly."

"Have you had any luck trying to persuade the Senate?"

"No, none whatsoever," Leia said, sighing. "I just wish the Senate would realise how important this is."

"Well, Leia, I'm not the Senate, and you don't need to convince me," Han said with a grin. "You need to get some more sleep. Convincing the Senate is going to be hard enough without you falling asleep halfway through the session."

Leia laughed lightly. Han had a way of making her forget her problems, or at least give her the feeling that they could be solved. She kissed him. "I love you, Nerf Herder. You know that, don't you?"

He kissed her back. "I'd never forget it."

They were just settling down to go back to sleep when the bedside holocomm flashed, indicating that a message was being recorded. The colour of the flash meant that the message originated from the NRI.

****

Lieutenant Belindi Kalenda had just received a report from the NRI agent on Byss. A force of one _Executor_-class, one _Imperial II_-class and three _Victory-II _class Star Destroyers had been sighted in orbit. They had loaded supplies - a _lot_ of supplies - and then vanished into hyperspace. The report said nothing about their possible destination, but Belindi had a hunch that they were going to Terra. She looked at her chrono. Too early in the morning to wake the President, so she decided to transfer the data to the President's residence, where it could be read at a more civilised hour.

The President's message service acknowledged receipt, and Belindi closed the data link. Yawning, she headed towards the caf maker. Another four hours to go before she could go home and get some sleep. She hated night shift, even if she did earn more money.

****

In an orbiting spacedock above Coruscant's equator, there was a hive of activity, as loader droids, overseen by their human supervisors loaded crate after crate aboard shuttles. When each shuttle was loaded, it took off and headed for the Star Destroyer that was orbiting beside it. 

Preparations were under way for Luke Skywalker's trip to Terra.

Luke looked at the manifest for the next shuttle load. This was the one with the X-wing and TIE simulators. The datapad chirped, indicating that Rogue Squadron was now due in. He tuned his comlink to the frequency they were using.

"_Errant Venture_, this is Rogue Leader. Request landing clearance." Luke nodded as he recognised Corran's voice. Rogue Squadron was right on time. He smiled as he listened to Mirax's reply.

"No need to be so formal, Corran. Secondary landing bay is ready for you."

"Okay, Mirax. Coming in now. Could you have some hot caf ready for us when we land?"

Menace positively dripped from Mirax's reply. "You're lucky that my father let us borrow the _Venture_. Don't push your luck by expecting a drinks service."

Corran laughed lightly. "Would I be pushing my luck too far to expect the caf machine to be turned on, at least?"

"I might be able to arrange that," Mirax replied in a mock condescending tone.

Luke laughed, and checked off the next item on his manifest. The other Jedi who were accompanying him on his trip were due in soon.

The loading went on.

****

Of course, it was impossible for Luke Skywalker, Jedi Master and hero of the New Republic, to do such a thing without attracting the attention of the media.

"This is Licau Nista, reporting for Galactic News Network."

The tall, slim, blonde woman switched off the holoproj and sat back in her chair, deep in thought. She had switched to the newscast because anything to do with Luke Skywalker held deep interest for her. She closed her eyes and remembered...

__

She struggled from the depths of unconsciousness, to find herself lying on the metal decking of a Star Destroyer's bridge. Admiral Daala had stunned her before making a getaway. 

She could feel tremors run through the deck as the chain reaction of explosions that she had started intensified and spread throughout the aft end of the massive ship. She took a quick glance out the massive viewport to confirm that the ship was headed into the gas giant Yavin, then raced to the ejection pod storage area.

She was torn between returning to the fourth moon, where she knew that someone she loved was waiting for her, someone who loved her. But she couldn't. She had a crucial goal to achieve before they could be happy together... at least she could send him a message to let him know that she was still alive...

Callista sat deep in thought, tears running unnoticed down her face. Ever since the aftermath of the mission on the _Eye of Palpatine_, she had been only able to touch the Dark Side of the Force. 

And she would rather die than become a Dark Jedi.

__

Why? she thought. _Was it because I took over Cray Mingla's body? She offered to let me!_

She brought her thoughts under control with a sudden effort of willpower. Feeling sorry for herself wasn't going to bring back her ability to use the Force. She sighed. It was like wearing a blindfold. After so many years of being able to use the Force, to suddenly have it removed from you was...

Suddenly, her vision began to fade to black. _Huh? What's happening?_ she thought, as the blackness spread to cover her entire vision. _If I didn't know better, I'd say that I'd been..._ She sat up abruptly as the thought came to her.

__

Blindfolded! Is this a way to me to regain my contact with the Force? If it was, it made her wonder why it hadn't happened before now. She didn't try to figure it out, though. She didn't know how the Force worked - no one had been able to figure it out - but it was enough for her that she knew _that_ it worked.

__

Okay, how do I do this? she thought. If it was like a blindfold, all she had to do was to reach behind her head and undo the knot holding it there. She reached up and found... nothing. Her fingers brushed up against the back of her head.

__

Hmmm, that didn't work, she thought. _Then again, it isn't a real blindfold, is it?_ She was going to have to use the Force to undo it. But...

__

I'll try it and see what happens. The she remembered what she had been told so many times. _Do or do not. There is no try_. _Okay then, I'll _do_ it_, she thought with fresh determination. She concentrated, imagining hands reaching up behind her head. They made contact with the knot, and she knew that she was going to succeed. After fumbling with the knot for a while, she managed to get it undone. The blindfold fell away, revealing the room again.

She felt a sudden flash of trepidation. _Did I just use the Dark Side then?_ She doubted it. Her emotions were the key. She had not been angry, afraid or aggressive - the three emotions that led to the Dark Side. Instead, she had been confident at first, then overjoyed at her success. Light Side emotions.

Time to test to see if she _really_ had regained contact with the Force, or if she was just fooling herself. She closed her eyes and concentrated, picturing the chair - and herself rising slowly in the air. She felt a movement and opened one eye, careful not to break her concentration. She was floating about half a metre in the air. She felt a fresh sense of joy and happiness, which broke her concentration. The chair fell heavily to the ground, but she didn't care. She had the Force back! 

She remembered what she had seen on the news. She would help Luke with his mission. Then she remembered something else.

Would he even want to talk to her? She remembered their last parting, about five years ago. There was only one way to find out for sure.

****

The Senate was in session, and common sense was out the window.

That was the opinion of Han Solo, sitting uncomfortably behind Leia, and wondering yet again how in the Force she had managed to convince him to attend a session of the Senate. He'd never had a particularly high opinion of politics and politicians, and now he was being retaught - again - why.

Leia's plan to help Terra had been presented, and as expected, her usual sparring partner, Borsk Fey'lya was doing everything in his power to block it.

"Why should we sent most of our defence forces to a planet that is six months away, even in hyperspace? We have more pressing concerns closer to home," he was saying, trying to persuade other members of the Senate to support him.

Slippery little fuzzball.

"Like what, Councillor Fey'lya?" Leia was asking him. Han snorted. It didn't matter what concerns there were; Fey'lya was arguing against it because Leia supported it, simple as that. 

"Admiral Daala, for one. Even though her force has taken heavy losses, we still need to be on the lookout."

Han groaned. Leia had shown the data they had received from the NRI, showing quite clearly that Daala had left for Terra four times now, and he still didn't believe it? What would it take? A personal message from Daala herself, saying "Hi New Republic Senate, I'm off to Terra now, so feel free to send your fleet to hunt down and kill Pellaeon and myself. Have a nice day!" Not likely. 

"Councillor Fey'lya," Leia was saying with almost exaggerated patience. "Admiral Daala has left for Terra. I thought the information gathered by the NRI would have been enough to convince you of that."

"All it shows is a group of Imperial warships making a hyperspace jump," Fey'lya replied. "We are inferring that it is Daala's strike fleet in the first place, which is not unreasonable, and we are also inferring that she is headed for Terra. Where is the proof?"

Han rolled his eyes. Fey'lya had gone for the flashy visuals and completely ignored the attached technical data such as entry speed and vector. New Republic hyperspace experts had examined it, and performed their calculations - which still seemed like some sort of magic to Han - and had pronounced that Daala was headed to Terra. 

And still Fey'lya wasn't buying it. Either he was being wilfully stupid, or there was a political reason. Han would have bet every last credit that he had on the second option.

The council session dragged on.

*****

On the planet that was the subject of such high-level attention, another day was starting. 

Rick Noah emerged bleary-eyed from his tent and looked at the dawn. _And a very pretty dawn it is, too_, he thought. _But I really hate waking up in time to see it_.

He made directly for the smouldering remains of the fire, mildly surprised to see that it had survived though the night. He filled a metal cup with water, then placed it on the warmest part of the fire. _Coffee, then food_.

"Oi! Wake up!" he shouted in the general direction of the tent. A hiking boot came flying through the open door of the tent, headed in the general direction of his head, followed by a stream of curses.

Laughing, Rick caught the boot. Shaking his head in mock disbelief he commented, "Really, Tash, your language shocks me."

A string of even more graphic curses came from the tent, then a head topped by tousled black hair popped out. "Well, I wouldn't have reason to use language like that if you'd have let me sleep to a decent hour."

"Sleep is highly over-rated. What would it take to get you to join me out here?"

"Coffee. Lots of it, and strong coffee, at that."

Suddenly, Rick staggered back as if hit by something. An image began to form in his mind...

__

He was in a low Earth orbit - although he had no idea how he knew this. Suddenly in a blinding flash of light, dozens - no, hundreds - of spaceships began to appear all around him. The fact that there was other life besides on Earth stunned him. They ranged in size from two absolutely huge ships - Eight kilometres, if they're a centimetre_ - to ships that were fairly large in their own right, but were dwarfed by the two mammoth vessels. _

He saw several flashes on the surface, and within a few minutes he saw a cloud of ICBM warheads streaking up toward their targets - the ships in orbit. The crews of ships realised their danger and began to fire lasers at the incoming warheads. About half were destroyed before the rest impacted on the ships - or actually, the ships' shields. Rick knew this because they detonated away from the ships, and the fact that the impact highlighted the shields themselves.

He watched at the warheads blossomed into fireballs that first weakened, then destroyed the shielding. Some of the ships that had had their shields removed were hit again, and this time the thermonuclear reactions took place directly against their hulls.

Hull plating vapourised, igniting the atmosphere within, and causing plumes of fire to stream out. They only lasted for a short time before they were cut off with an abruptness that suggested that those sections had been sealed off. 

Some ships, including one of the two mammoth vessels were hit by multiple warheads, and they were destroyed.

Almost immediately, the ships returned fire, completely scouring a whole city from the face of the Earth in a matter of minutes...

"Rick? Rick! Are you alright?"

He shook off the daydream - he was convinced that it had been a daydream - and looked at Tash. "Yeah," he said, and looked into the kettle. The water was just beginning to boil.

He poured two cups, and handed one to Tash before preparing to cook breakfast. He still wondered about that daydream, though. It seemed too vivid and realistic to be an ordinary daydream. He shrugged mentally. There were more important things to worry about than his daydreams.

__

[Note: Yes, Rick does appear to be Force-sensitive. But, as members of the US Congress say to reporters asking them about rumours, "I can neither confirm nor deny that statement." Just keep in mind, though, that the Force is created by life, and there is life on Earth, so there might_ be Force- sensitive people there. They just won't know about it. g]_

****

Kyp Durron was overseeing the loading of the _Errant Venture_. The other Jedi Masters and Knights who were accompanying Luke had arrived, and Luke was taking a well-earned break.

Suddenly, he heard a voice in his head. _Kyp, don't be surprised_. 

Puzzled, Kyp replied, _Who are you?_ It wasn't someone he recognised, although the voice did sound vaugely familiar.

There was a hint of amusement in the reply. _Can't tell you. You'll find out in a second_. 

Then the person entered the loading dock. _Cal-_, he thought, quelling a feeling of utter amazement.

"Hi Kyp," she said in a soft voice.

"Hi Callista," he replied in a near-whisper. "If you don't mind me asking, what are you doing here?"

"I've got the Force back, and I'm going with you," she said matter-of-factly.

It took a couple of seconds for that to sink in. "Huh?" Kyp said in amazement.

"I've got the Force back, and I'm going to Terra with you," she repeated calmly.

Kyp feigned an air of utter nonchalance. "Of course."

Callista didn't fall for it, but merely said, "Can you get Luke down here? I want to see his reaction for myself. Just don't tell him who it is, okay?"

The idea of playing this sort of practical joke on his Master appealed to Kyp, who grinned and activated his comlink. Both Kyp and Callista heard his sleepy response, "Yes?"

"Luke, Kyp here. There's someone here who wants to talk to you."

"Send him up, Kyp."

"It's a her, and I think you should come out here," Kyp replied, trying to hold back laughter. 

Still half-asleep, Luke said, "Okay, I'll be out in a second. Who is it?"

"You're going to have to find out for yourself, Luke."

"Now you've got me curious," he said before signing off.

Kyp turned to Callista and said, "You sure you're up to this?"

Callista nodded and replied, "It's something I've been putting off for five years now. I have to face Luke again."

Kyp nodded, just as Luke appeared in the doorway of the small building they'd been using as rest quarters. An expression of utter surprise leapt onto his face. "Callista?"

Callista stepped forward, unshed tears glistening in the corners of her eyes. "Hi, Luke."

****

Han and Leia walked back to their quarters from the Senate Hall, each a study in conflicting emotions. Han looked ready to rip somebody's head off with his bare hands, and enjoy it. Leia was a study in resigned acceptance. Han wondered how she managed to control her temper. He knew from personal - and painful - eperience that she had a firey temper, but she was controlling it. 

__

Must be some Jedi thing, he thought. He wished that she would share some of it with him before he seriously injured some poor innocent who happened to wander into his path. Just then, his temper cooled considerably. He turned to Leia. "Thanks."

"You looked like you needed that."

"You're right, I did. I'm just angry with Fey'lya. 'Terra is not a member of the New Republic, so we can't help them'," Han said, doing a fairly creditable imitation of Fey'lya's voice. "I s'pose we'd better tell Luke so he can try to convince Terra's leaders to apply for New Republic membership. That way, you can repeat that little trick you did with the Koornacht Cluster a few years back."

Leia nodded. She had been motivated by a desire to stop the Yevethan genocide. It had worked, but she had drawn a lot of criticism.

"I suppose we had better give Luke the news."

****

When Han and Leia arrived at the spacedock, they had the shock of their lives. Standing next to Luke was...

"Callista?" Han asked recovering his wits first.

"Hi, Han," Callista said. "It's been a while."

"Yeah, it has," he said numbly. "If you don't mind me asking, what are you doing here?"

"I've regained contact with the Force, and I'm going with Luke," she replied simply.

"Forgive me for sounding nasty, but how can we be sure?"

Callista didn't take offense. "Luke has already checked, and he found all the signs of a Force-senstive mind." Luke nodded in comfirmation.

"Fair enough. Oh yeah, before I forget the real reason we came up here, I have to tell you something, Luke."

"What is it, Han?"

Han and Leia had spent most of the trip up trying to decide how best to break the news. In the end, Leia put it quite bluntly. "There will be no New Republic backup for you. Not unless you can convince the Terrans to join the New Republic."

"What? That gives the Imperials a whole year - more, actually - to work Terra over. Did you mention that if we beat Pellaeon, there's a fairly good chance that we won't have any more trouble from the Imperials - ever?"

Leia nodded. "I tried that. No joy."

Luke sighed. "I can understand the reasoning behind such a decision, but I don't like it."

****

After Han and Leia had left, Luke and Callista walked back to Luke's rooms. Corran met them half way. "Hi, Luke," he said. Then he noticed the expression on Luke's face. "What's up? You don't look too happy."

"There won't be any New Republic reinforcements for a long time, at best. Since Terra isn't a member of the New Republic, no New

Republic forces are going to help them." 

"You mean, we going by ourselves?" Corran asked incredously.

"You knew that from the start, Corran."

"Yeah, but I was under the impression that we would have backup leaving from here as soon as they had formed up." He scratched his head thoughfully. "This changes a few things," he said in understatement. "Rogue Squadron is good, but even we can't tangle with all of Pellaeon's fleet by ourselves."

"No-one's twisting your arm to make you go, Corran."

"Oh, I'm still going, but I have to tell this to the rest of the Rogues. Remember, for them, this _is_ an all-volunteer mission. I want them to know exactly what they're getting in to here." Then he noticed Callista standing beside Luke. "Who's that?" he asked, pointing at her.

"Oh, sorry. Callista, this is Colonel Corran Horn, Jedi Knight and commanding officer of Rogue Squadron. Corran, this is Callista, Jedi Knight." 

"Oh, yeah, I recognise you now. Luke told me about you when I was at the Academy on Yavin Four," Corran said, offering his hand to Callista.

"I deny everything," she said with a chuckle, shaking his hand.

"Really? I thought the stuff he told me about you was pretty complimentary." Then Corran remembered something. "Hey Luke, I thought you told me that Callista had somehow lost her contact with the Force."

"Yes, but she's somehow regained it."

Corran's eyes widened in amazement. "Really? I never really believed it was possible for a Jedi to lose conact with the Force in the first place, let alone regain it."

Callista shrugged. "I know it sounds strange, but no-one has ever really worked out how the Force functions in the first place. We Jedi just happen to be able to use it."

Corran nodded in understanding. "Well, I've got to be off to let the rest of the Rogues know about the changes in the situation. I'm sure we'll be meeting each other again on the trip to Terra," he said, nodding to Callista before heading off to brief Rogue Squadron.

"He seems to be an interesting person," Callista commented as she watched him walk away. 

"He used to be with CorSec - the Corellian Security Force. He skipped to the Rebellion after his Imperial Intelligence liason tried to set him up to be killed. And he's a _very_ good pilot. When Rogue Squadron was reformed not long before the liberation of Coruscant, he basically walked straight into a flight leader's position. Wedge has told me a bit about him. He was a bit stand-offish at first, but that was a hangover from his time on the run from the Imperials."

Callista nodded. "I sense in him a deeply buried pain."

"He watched his father die."

That got Callista's complete attention. "What?"

"His father - another CorSec agent - was meeting with someone in a cantina. Corran was watching via remote as backup. A bounty hunter walked up to the booth they were in, and lit it up. Corran's father and the contact were killed, along with another person in the booth. The contact was the bounty. The other two just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time."

Callista nodded again. These things happened, but realising that didn't make it any easier to accept when it happened to you.

Just then, Kyp appeared. "Luke, the loading is complete. We're ready to go whenever you give the word."

Luke nodded. "We'll be going soon, after Corran tells the Rogues of the changes in the circumstances, and gives them a chance to back out."

****

It was three days into the trip, and Corran was conducting interviews with the new Rogues who had come in after the Battle of Sluis Van.

"So, Lieutenant..." he checked his datapad. "Harkin, why did you decide to continue on, even though you know we're basically by ourselves?"

The slim brown-haired woman sitting across the desk from him in he room he had taken as his office said, "My parents are traders. I've been just about everywhere. You know, 'Join the Fleet, see the galaxy'", she concluded with a smile.

Corran nodded. "I've reviewed your profile, and it seems to be pretty good. Starting tomorrow, we'll be working on squadron manoeuvers. Welcome to Rogue Squadron," he concluded, offering her a hand.

She shook it before standing up and saluting. "Thank you, sir."

After she had left, Corran checked his datapad. Kiren Harkin had been the last of the interviews. All the new Rogues had had good profiles - obviously, otherwise they wouldn't be in Rogue Squadron - but he wanted to see how well they fit in to the squadron. He remembered something Wedge told him not long after he joined Rogue Squadron; 'You're part of a team, and you need to act like it'.

He flushed slghtly as he recalled the circumstances he had learned that. A good lesson, but he wished he had learned it under other circumstances.

His reminiscing was interrupted when Mirax stuck her head into his office. "Finished grilling the new vict- er, the new recruits?"

Corran laughed lightly. "I was just remembering a few things that Wedge told me when I joined. It did me a lot of good, so I'm trying to pass it on."

Mirax nodded. "Sounds like a good idea to me. I was just headed off to get some lunch. If you've finished, do you want to come along?"

Corran smiled. "Nothing I'd like better." He shut down the datapad and stood up to join Mirax.

****

The Rogues were assembled before the simulators in one of the cargo holds. Corran was standing in front of them, briefing them on their mission in the simulators.

"This mission will be a fairly light one, just to get us working together as a team. Once we've mastered flight and squadron tactics, we'll be moving on to harder missions. How long that takes will depend on how long it takes the squadron to mesh together." He paused to look at each of the pilots.

The expressions varied, from agreement on the faces of the pilots who had been with Rogue Squadron for a while, to eager excitement on the faces of the new pilots, especially Kiren Harkin. She was bouncing from foot to foot, obviously eager to prove herself. Corran approved of that attitude. You could be the galaxy's best pilot, but until you'd shown what you could do, you were an unknown.

He continued, "Those of you who have been with the squadron for a while, help the new people to fit in." He knew that they would, but the new people weren't sure of that.

After a brief run-through of their mission - a patrol exercise, and the likely enemy that they would encounter, he dismissed them to the simulators. "Alright then, lets get to it."

****

Standing off to one side, Kyp and Mirax watched the Rogues as they scattered to their simulators. "Mirax, you've been associated with the Rogues for a while. What do you think of this lot?" Kyp asked.

"Oh, they're probably like all snubfighter jockies. Cocky, eager, and probably think the galaxy revolves around them," she said with a

laugh. "But they're good enough to have some justification in thinking that. You've heard the stories about them." 

Kyp nodded. It had been Rogue Squadron who had destroyed both Death Stars, made it possible to liberate Coruscant, and probably a whole slew of other things that he hadn't heard about. They had an incredible reputation, but it was one that had been earned

"How's Corran doing with his Jedi training?" Mirax asked.

"He's doing great. It's mainly refresher work for him, since he's already done the training on Yavin Four. I probably shouldn't be saying this - and please don't tell him that I did - but personally, I think he's almost reached the Master stage."

"Really? A Master?" Mirax asked, somewhat amazed at the concept.

Kyp grinned. "Married to a Jedi Master. What would your father say?"

Mirax was about to reply when Luke walked in. "Hi, Mirax. Corran's running the Rogues through their paces, I see."

"Yeah, he's getting them to work together, finding out who to make his flight leaders, the usual. Did he tell you that you'd be more than welcome to join them?"

Luke nodded. "Not the first time I've been invited to rejoin Rogue Squadron. I just haven't had the time - I've been too busy with my Jedi studies."

Mirax nodded. "He was telling me that he didn't really expect you to take up his offer, but he was telling me he was thinking about asking you if you were willing to fly opposition for the Rogues when they get to that stage."

Luke considered for a while. "Sure. I'll have to brush up on TIE controls - it's been fifteen years since I sat in a TIE fighter."

"When did you fly a TIE fighter, Luke?" Mirax asked.

"After Bakura. I wanted to get a feel for how one handled, try to understand the limitations that TIE pilots faced."

"And what was your impression?"

"If the Empire had put shields on them, they'd have created a very good fighter. The acceleration and manoeuverability are better than an X-wing, and almost as good as an A-wing or E-wing. Their lack of shields left them hideously vulnerable, though." He paused before continuing. "To change the subject, though, there is something I feel that you should know."

"What's that, Luke?"

"Corran's been doing very well in his Jedi training - in fact, so well that I'm thinking of promoting, I suppose the word would be, him to Jedi Master."

Mirax tried to affect surprised excitement, but Luke saw straight through her. "Did you tell her, Kyp?"

Kyp nodded sheepishly. "I told her just before you arrived that I thought Corran was just about ready to be a Master."

"Oh, well. No harm done, then," he said before turning to Mirax. "Could I ask you not to tell him? I'm going to promote him after dinner, and I want it to be a surprise."

Mirax nodded. "Okay, that sounds fair to me."

****

They had taken to having their meals all in one group, Jedi and Rogues. Just after they had finished, Corran asked Luke, "Luke there's one thing that I've been curious about. What was the reason for your going into seclusion just before that problem with the Yevethans a few years back? I would have asked you before now, but this is the first real chance that I've had."

Luke nodded. "Basically, the reason was that I just wanted some time for myself."

That answer seemed to surprise Corran. "Really? Why was that?"

"During the course of my Jedi studies, I matured from the brash teenager who thought nothing of racing into trouble-"

"Like when you and General Solo rushed in and rescued the Chief of State?"

Luke nodded. "Exactly. And that wasn't a good thing, either. Darth Vader found that he could use it to lure me into confronting him prematurely." He shuddered, remembering what had nearly happened.

"I know what you mean. When Daala started making trouble while I was on Yavin Four, I wanted to jump into my X-wing and rejoin Rogue Squadron in beating her back. Streen stopped me, though, by telling me what happened when you did the same thing."

"Good thing he did, too. But back to the original question. People were wanting me to do things for them. That didn't bother me too much, though - I'm willing to lend a hand if I can - but if I'd helped everyone who wanted my help - or needed it - I would've had no time to do the things that I wanted to. Not even a Jedi Master can do everything."

Corran nodded. There was never enough time to do all the things that youn wanted or need to do. So you picked the most important things, and concentrated on them.

When the meal had finished, and everything had been cleared away, Luke stood up and said, "Can I ask everyone to stay behind for a while. There's something I'd like to do." He moved to the front of the mess hall, and continued. "Since the Jedi Purge launched by the Emperor, the Jedi have been coming back. And as a Jedi learns more about the Force, the title he or she earns changes to reflect this. A Jedi moves from Adept to Knight to Master. Some records even hint that there were Jedi Grand Masters, but it'll be a while before anyone gains enough mastery of the Force to hold that title."

He paused to scan the room. "The reson why I asked you to stay behind is to mark one Jedi's passage into the ranks of Jedi Masters. That Jedi is Corran Horn." Luke hid a grin as Corran's jaw dropped as far as it could. Corran shot a glance at Mirax, then back at Luke, clearly unsure as to what to do.

Luke gestured him forward, then set a hand on his shoulder when Corran stepped up to him. "Corran has been working very hard on his training, when he was able to find time from working Rogue Squadron into a cohesive unit. He has earned the right to the title of Jedi Master." 

Corran flushed slightly as the room erupted into thunderous applause. Mirax was applauding the loudest.

****

Corran sat in the TIE simulator, studying the controls. He remembered the last time he had sat in a TIE simulator, during Ysanne Isard's attempt to convert him into an agent to destroy the Rogues, after the libertaion of Coruscant.

The controls were very simple, since they were likely to be operated by half-trained pilots who had been concripted by threat of force. Corran understood this. He guessed that a Star Destroyer in orbit ready to bombard a city if recruitment quotas weren't met was a pretty good inducement. 

__

You ready, Corran? Luke voice sounded in his head. They weren't using their comms, since even with encryption, they could be monitored. Even if the encryption algorithm wasn't broken, the simple fact that there were comms transmitting on Imperial frequencies could reveal a lot. It wasn't exactly playing fair, using the Force to communicate, but there are no rules in war.

__

Yep. I don't think they'll know what hit them.

__

Don't you think this is a bit unfair?

No. I want to see how they react when everything lands on them at once.

__

Fair enough, I suppose. A brief pause, then, _Passive sensors are decting active sensors, on New Republic frequencies. Right on time, too_.

Corran checked his concussion missile launchers again. They were linked to fire in pairs, and set to go active when they were half a second from their estimated time of impact. He would fire two at each X-wing, which should be enough to score a kill, _if_ they both hit. His lasers were powered up, ready to deal with the survivors.

He checked his sensor screen. Since his active sensors were in standby mode, all he saw were lines of bearing and range estimated from signal strength. The Rogues were almost in range.

****

Kiren Harkin was paying very close attention to her sensor screen. They were approaching a small asteriod feild. She knew that Colonel Horn and Master Skywalker were out there somewhere, but she didn't let herself be lulled by the fact that they had eleven-to-two odds in their favour. They were up against two of the best snubfighter pilots in the galaxy. Luke Skywalker had destroyed the first Death Star, and Corran Horn had fired the shots that had brought down the shields on Coruscant, enabling the liberation of that planet. Plus they were both Jedi Masters.

Suddenly, she felt nervous. She knew she wasn't Force-sensitive, but she was able to know when danger was approaching. She got that feeling now.

She was beginning to move her X-wing when suddenly her missile lock-on warning screamed. She dumped some decoys, then manouevered radically in a random direction. She looked up in time to see two streaks pass over her cockpit, locked onto one of her decoys.

__

An ambush! She looked at her sensor screen again. Two new blips appeared as the computer recognised them as not part of the asteroid field. A light began to flash in her Head-Up Display. _I'm being painted. Squints. That must be them_.

All around her, X-wings were exploding as the concussion missiles found their mark. Once the explosions had died down, she counted the X-wings remaining on her sensor scope. Only four left. Not good. That was a well-planned ambush. She switched to proton topedoes and tried for missile lock. Nope. The two squints were dancing in and out of her sight, so she couldn't get a lock-on. But at least they weren't locked on to her. She switched back to lasers, and evened out her shields. This was going to be a long day.

****

Corran noticed one of the X-wings moving just after he pulled the trigger and sent his missiles streaking towards them. It somehow managed to dodge the two missiles that were locked onto it, then began to move in an agressive fashion towards him and Luke. Corran agreed with the instincts of the X-wing pilot - he was pretty sure it was Kiren Harkin - since as the saying went, "The best defence is a good offense."

__

Luke, I'll take the one that's moving towards us. You take the rest. Okay?

Sure.

He pushed his throttle forward all the way and armed his lasers. He also mentally reviewed the advantages and disadvantages of each craft in the furball. The squint had the edge in speed and manoueverability, but the X-wing had shields, which was a greater advantage. He would have to be careful here.

He watched as Kiren bored in at him, clearly trying for a head-to-head pass. _Sorry, but I'm not going to oblige_, he thought as he brought the squint through a 90-degree snap roll, and pulled back on the stick, sending the squint racing off at a 90-degree angle to its previous course. Grey crept in at the corners of his vision as the simulator exerted pseudo-gravity on his body.

****

Kiren blinked at the squint she was closing in on suddendly raced off perpendicular to its original course. _Damn good flying_, she thought. _This guy is going to take a lot of killing_. Her concentration fully on the upcoming duel between herself and Colonel Horn - somehow she knew who she was facing off against - she almost missed the deaths of two Rogues. _Two on two. Not good_, she thought as she brought the X-wing in behind the squint.

****

Corran glanced at his rear sensor. Kiren hadn't been fooled by his manouever, dropping into firing position behind him. _Oh, no you don't_, he thought as he broke right, just as red laser beams flew along his previous flight path. Corran's estimation of Kiren's abilities went up a notch. Knowing that she was unlikely to be able to get a lock-on before he jinked, she had trusted to skill and a pinch of luck, and fired before a full lock had been achieved. Only the fact that he had moved at the same instant she had fired had saved him.

__

Two down, one to go, Luke reported.

__

Acknowledged, Corran replied distactedly, his full attention on Kiren's X-wing. He noticed that their dogfight was taking them closer to the asteriod field, and realised what Kiren was planning. _She intends to use the asteriods to screen herself from my sensors, and ambush me. Good thinking_.

Just the, his HUD flickered, indicating that he had lost her. He began to search with the Force, then stopped himself. _That's a bit too much_, he thought. _And besides, since we're riding simulators, it won't help much_. Instead he punched up the gain on his passive sensors, hoping to detect a drive trail. There was so much clutter that active senors would return a lot of nothing.

Suddenly his danger sense screamed a warning at him. He jinked violently just as a X-wing burst from the asteroids, wingtip lasers spitting angry red beams.

****

Kiren's X-wing drifted through the asteroids, the engines reduced to only enough power to manouever away from errant chunks of rock. She had also shut down her active sensors, relying on passive sensors, particularly her eyes, to spot Corran's squint.

Suddenly she sat bolt upright in her ejection seat, having spotted a glint of light just outside the asteroid field. That glint looked like starlight reflecting off something. The Quadanium armour plating on the wings of a squint, for instance...

Without conscious thought, she shoved the throttles forward, her finger convulsing on the trigger of her lasers. Somehow the squint managed to avoid the stream of fire she was pouring at it, and fired three bursts back at her. Static hissed in her ears as the lasers carved into her forward shields. She kept firing, tracking the squint as it dogded and weaved, but she kept missing. Realising that she was wasting energy, she shunted energy from engines into recharging her shields. She realised that she was sacrificing more of a speed edge to the squint, but shields were the one thing that _had_ to be maintained, otherwise she'd be surrendering an even bigger advantage.

Suddenly, the squint spun around and poured fire at her. Kiren flipped her X-wing on its port S-foils and banked sharply away, wincing as more hissing announced the demise of more of her forward shields. She evened them out and turned to face her attacker. Switching her lasers to dual-fire mode, she fired a series of four bursts at the squint. Three missed. 

The fourth burnt some of the armour off the left wing of the squint, not enough to damage it seriously, but enough to slightly reduce its manouerability. Kiren grinned. About time she got a hit in, even a minor one. And considering who she was up against, that was more than a lot of people could say - if they were still alive to talk about it, that is.

****

Corran was jolted in his seat as one of Kiren's bursts sturck him a glancing blow on the left wing. _Not a serious hit, but a hit nevertheless_. He pulled the trigger and sent a stream of green bolts back at her. Most impacted on her forward shields, higlighting it as a hemisphere of energy. Suddenly, the hemispehere vanished, allowing the last bolt through to hit her upper-left S-foil. With a small explosion, the last meter or so broke off, spinning away from the X-wing. _Alright_, Corran thought. _I've taken down her forward shield. Took long enough_.

That didn't stop him from respecting her flying ability. This had been the longest single dogfight he had ever had. _With the possible exception of Wedge or Tycho, and those didn't last much longer than this one_.

Kiren reacted quickly, evening out her shields. While this made them much weaker than full-strength, it was a lot better than nothing. Her X-wing slowed down noticeably, indicating that she was drawing off energy from her engines to recharge the shields. _Good setting of priotirities. It all comes down to the ability to stay alive in a fight, and she's doing everything she can to stay alive. Killing the enemy comes second to that._

But he had to strike again, to test her ability to cope under pressure. Not only that - he wanted the kill for its own sake, too. He pulled the trigger to send more green bolts in her direction.

****

An alarm sounded in Kiren's cockpit. _Oh, no! Forward shields are down!_ Her R5 unit hooted and put a countdown clock in the corner of her HUD, indicating how long until total shield repair. She glanced at it and decided that sixty seconds was too long to be without a part of her shields in a dogfight. "Can you reroute so that I have at least partial forward shields?" she asked.

The astromech driod hooted an affirmative, with the qualification that this would add time to the shield repair process. "I don't care. Just do it," she ordered. The driod beeped again, and the countdown clock shifted to seventy-five seconds. _Not good_. "If you diverted more energy to shields, could you reduce that time?"

Another affirmative hoot was the droid's response. "Then do it." The X-wing slowed, and the countdown clock shifted to fifty seconds. Kiren glanced at her shield indicators. _About two-fifths all around. Not what I'd like, but it'll have to do_.

Just then, she noticed Corran making an attack run. "Oh, no you don't. You're not getting me."

She dived sharply, ducking beneath the stream of fire. She continued the dive until she was well below the squint. She had an idea...

****

__

What is she doing? Corran wondered as the X-wing continued to dive, ending up directly below him at a range of about six hundred metres. He felt slightly uneasy, but he didn't know why... 

Suddenly his danger sense screamed another warning at him. He moved to jink violently, but he was a fraction of a second late.

Pairs of red laser bolts streaked up at the underside of his squint. Because his slightly late manouever, they missed their intended target, the cockpit of the squint.

Instead they burned through his engines, utterly destroying them.

Corran read the damage report scrolling up his HUD gloomily. Emergency systems had brought his squint to a halt before it slammed into an asteroid, but that had drained all the energy that his lasers required. It would be at least three minutes before power levels returned to a level sufficient for combat. And even then, Corran knew that his auxiliary maneouvering jets weren't enough to give him even a fraction of the mobility he'd need in a dogfight.

He cursed his moment of inattentiveness. Because Kiren had done something completely unexpected, she had got him. She was a very good pilot. Looking out of the canopy, he saw Kiren's X-wing hanging in front of him. He set his com to the exercise general frequency and said, "Well done, Lieutenant. You got me."

"Thank you, sir. But it was a close thing. A couple more good hits and you would have gotten me instead."

Corran knew this was true. But there was one other thing. "By the way, Lieutenant, the exercise isn't completed yet. Master Skywalker is still out there, and you're the only Rogue left."

"Oh." From the long silence that followed the single word, Corran knew that Kiren had been concentrating fully on her engagement with him. Suddenly, the X-wing vanished from his field of view as green laser bolts streaked down in front of him. Another Interceptor flashed past, clearly in pursuit. _Get her, Luke_.

__

Okay, but somehow I don't think it's going to be easy.

****

Kiren cursed her inattentiveness. _How could I have forgotten?_ she thought angrily. The answer was simple. Because the duel with Colonel Horn had been so difficult, she had concentrated fully on it. She had won, but left herself open to attack from Master Skywalker. Only luck had enabled her to survive his ambush.

Dodging and weaving, she knew that this dogfight was going to be over soon. There were still twenty-five seconds until her shields fully recovered, and until that time, she was vulerable on two counts. Her weakened shields, and the fact that she was a _lot_ slower than the squint behind her. Pairs of green bolts flashed past on either side of her. "R5, I assume you have him on sensors, right?" Her astromech hooted a derisive reply, almost sounding insulted at the suggestion that he didn't.

Kiren smiled and said, "Yes, I should have known better. Can you program a proton torp to loop around and lock onto the squint behind me?" 

The droid beeped a query. "What I mean is, can you program it to make a 180-degree loop and activate its sensors when it passes behind me after I fire it?" 

The droid hooted an affirmative reply. "Good. And do it quickly. I don't know how much longer I can keep dodging." She was feeling tired after the previous dogfight, and knew that she couldn't manage a repeat performance. A few seconds later, the droid signalled her that the proton torpedo had been successfully reprogrammed.

__

Well, here goes, she thought, and pulled the trigger.

****

Every so often, the fleeing X-wing would flit across Luke's sights, prompting him to pull the trigger. Somehow, he missed each and every time. _She's good_, he thought. Then he noticed something. 

The X-wing was only going at 75% of its maximum speed. But it's shields were slowly increasing in strength, from 43%. _Of course - she's diverting power from the engine to regenerate her shields. Exactly what I'd be doing in the same circumstances_.

Just then, the X-wing seemed to lurch, and a proton torpedo raced away from it. _Huh? What is she _doing_?_

The answer was not long in coming. As soon as the torpedo had cleared the X-wing, it began to loop around. _Oh, no!_ Luke thought. _She's managed to reprogram a proton torpedo so that it would go behind her!_

The torpedo straightened up, now aimed directly at Luke. Because he had closed to such a short distance to score this kill, he had no chance to manouever out of the way. He could do nothing but watch as the torpedo slammed into his squint. 

The simulator immediately cut to an outside view of the squint exploding spectacularly, then flashed a summary of the engagement on the screen: 

MISSION #28: INTERCEPTOR AMBUSH

INITIAL IMPERIAL STRENGTH: 2 INTERCEPTORS

INITIAL NEW REPUBLIC STRENGTH 11 X-WINGS

RESULTS:

10 X-WINGS DESTROYED

1 INTERCEPTOR DESTROYED

1 INTERCEPTOR DISABLED

MINOR IMPERIAL VICTORY

BEST PILOTS: JEDI MASTER LUKE SKYWALKER (7 KILLS)

COLONEL CORRAN HORN (3 KILLS)

LIEUTENANT KIREN HARKIN (1 KILL, 1 DAMAGE)

Luke undid his harness as the simulator pod hissed and began to open. When he emerged, he noticed that the Rogus were crowded around an X-wing simulator, and that Corran was climbing out of another TIE simulator.

"How do you feel, Luke?" Corran asked.

"Dead," Luke replied with a grin. "That was a neat trick she pulled off."

"Wasn't it? I was watching on the sensors when she fired that torpedo, and for a second there, I thought she had hit the wrong button by accident. She surprised me."

"Surprised the both of us, I think. She got me, and put you out of the fight very effectively. Makes you wonder why she isn't a higher rank by now, say a Captain at least."

"That's something I've been pondering, too. Then I read her service record. She hasn't got enough time in grade for a full promotion, and I can't just walk up to her and say, 'Here you go, you're a Captain now', either."

"What do you mean, not enough time in grade? How long has she been in the Fleet?"

"She joined up just before the Koornacht Crisis. By all accounts, she did very well. In fact, she was at N'zoth, and scored a heap of kills there."

Luke nodded. "But there _is_ something you can do, right? Not that I'm trying to put pressure on you, or ursurp your command authority, or anything like that," Luke added.

Corran smiled. "Don't worry about that. But actually, I was thinking about giving Kiren a brevet promotion, subject to approval by Starfighter Command. And seeing who the head of Starfighter Command is..."

"It shouldn't pose major difficulties."

Just then, they reached the group of pilots who were thumping Kiren on the back and congratulating her. They quickly stopped and snapped to attention. Kiren threw a hasty salute.

Corran returned it, saying, "As you were. Lieutenant, that was _very_ good flying in the sims. You surprised the both of us. That goes without saying, since you bagged both of us."

"Thank you, sir," she said, trying to keep a smile off her face. "I just got lucky, I guess."

"There is no such thing as luck, Lieutenant, just the Force," Luke said with a faint grin.

"Another thing, Lieutenant," Corran said with a stern expression. "You're out of uniform."

The grin slipped from Kiren's face, as Corran continued, "You should be wearing these." He reached into a pocket and handed a set of Captain's rank insignia over to her. Her jaw dropped as she accepted them. Corran continued, "I want to see those on your uniform by the evening meal, _Captain_."

"Er, yessir," the now-Captain Kiren Harkin said, still struggling to come to terms with what had just happened. Her blush deepened as all of the Rogues burst into applause, congratualting one of their own.

****

Corran and Mirax were walking through the corridors of the _Errant Venture_. It had become a habit; after they had finished what needed to be doing for the day, to take a walk, and generally, spend some time together. Both had warned their subordinates that they were not to be disturbed unless it was a dire emergency - and even then to expect some heat.

"Credit for 'em, Corran," Mirax said, breaking the silence.

"Hmm? Sorry, I was just thinking," Corran said, jolted from his thoughts.

"Yeah, I could tell. Mind sharing it with me?"

Corran hesitated. "At Sluis Van, I ran into someone familiar."

"Get to the point, Corran," Mirax said, planting her hands on her hips in mock frustration.

Corran said just one word. "Erisi."

"What?"

"That's who I ran into. Erisi Dlarit."

"WHAT??" Corran heard and felt her surprise and anger. Little wonder, since Erisi had been responsible for Corran's capture by Isard, and had tried to get Mirax killed. "I thought you shot her down at Thyferra!"

"I did, and that's been bothering me ever since. But I think I may have figured it out."

"Please share it with me. I'm all ears," Mirax said.

"I think Thrawn cloned her. Where he got the material from, I don't know. But she was a pretty good pilot - she wouldn't have been in Rogue Squadron if she wasn't."

"So she should have been Eriisi?" Corran heard the humour in Mirax's voice, but he could tell that it was forced.

"One mystery solved. The other one won't be so easy," he said.

"That being?"

"What to do when we reach the Sol system."

****

It was nearly time. Six months in hyperspace, and it all came down to this. Admiral Pellaeon took his seat on the _Chimaera_'s bridge and made a quick scan. All was as it should be. He nodded to himself. The intensive training had paid off. The TIE pilots' training had been slightly hampered by the fact that the data on their likely oppostion was badly out of date. It had been used anyway, but mission against New Republic craft had been added to stop complacency.

Pellaeon snorted. Against the Terran atmospheric fighters, the TIEs had been near-invincible. They had cut great swathes through the simulated enemy. But against the New Republic enemies, things had been different. Very different. 

Which raised another point. The handling of his fighters in atmosphere. They had no handling capablilties - it was as simple as that. Pellaeon called down curses on the head of the Sienar Systems designer who had been responsible for the TIE series. Would it have been asking too much for some atmospheric manouevering capability? The New Republic's fighters were quite manoueverable in atmosphere - albiet at the cost of dramatically increased fuel consumption - and the Terran's fighters, limited to atmosphere, designed for atmosphere, were bound to be better. The only advantage the TIEs had were their concussion missiles and proton torpedoes.

Pellaeon had ordered as many TIE starfighters and Interceptors as possible to be retro-fitted with the launcher and sensor packages that would enable them to fire the missiles. He hoped it would be enough. 

The warbling of a proximity alarm cut into Pellaeon's thoughts. They had reached the Sol system. He watched as the helmsman brought the _Chimaera _out of hyperspace. All around, the other ships were emerging into realspace as well. "We have arrived at the Sol system," the navigator said, confirming the readouts that Pellaeon could see.

"Initiate long-range scan," Pellaeon ordered. Hanging outside a system, they would provide little data other than the locations of the planets. For now, that would do. They could gather more detailed information at a later date. For now, Pellaeon wanted to be sure that when he made the next jump, he wouldn't blunder through a planet. 

The hologram representing the Sol system gradually became more detailed as other ships added their sensor data to the _Chimaera_'s. Pellaeon studied it, noting the locations of the planets. Just as he had suspected, about half were on the other side of the star. He gave orders, breaking the fleet into several groups.

One would remain with him. This fleet had a majority of the firepower under Pellaeon's command and would jump into orbit around Terra. Another one would disperse, to cover the likely approach routes for any New Republic relief effort, although Pellaeon hoped that one wouldn't appear. He would prepare, just in case they did. The rest would jump to a central location, where it could assist the invasion efforts or reinforce the pickets. 

Using a secure datalink, Pellaeon sent his orders to each ship, receiving confirmation before the fleet sepearated. "Shields up," he ordered before he gave the order for hyperspace. He was fairly confident that the Terrans had no ground-to-space weaponry, but he would not underestimate them, or make the mistake of being too overconfident. That was what had killed Grand Moff Tarkin and the first Death Star at Yavin. 

The stars blurred, extended into starlines, then became the mottled pattern of hyperspace. A minute later, they reverted to the normal pinpricks of light.

Pellaeon had arrived at Terra.


	3. Exodus Part 3

Title:Exodus Part Three  
Author: Robert Cox  
Author E-mail: [smeghead@ix.net.au][1]  
Category: New Republic  
Keywoards: Luke Corran Pellaeon  
Spoilers: None that I can think of right now. :)  
Rating: NC-17. A couple of bad words. Non-graphic depictions of violence.  
Summary: The Imperial Fleet has reached Terra, only to receive a number of nasty shocks. Several pitched battle break out as the Imperials establish a foothold and begin the campaign to conquer Terra. Daala brings reinforcements in the form of the remnants of her task force. The _Errant Venture_ arrives, and the Rogues and Jedi manage to reach Terra, where they find another surprise...  
Disclaimer: You know the drill... based on characters and situations created by George Lucas, and copyrighted to  
him and LFL, and all the other profic authors out there. I'm not making any money out of this, yadda yadda.  
Author's note: You may notice that I've given concussion missiles and proton torpedoes a range just a _tad_ (about twenty-five times, if you want to be pedantic :) longer than in the X-wing/TIE fighter games. I just find it somewhat impossible to believe that with the technology level that appears in the Star Wars universe that their missiles only have a range of about two kilometres. Whereas, here and now, we can build air-to-air missiles with a range approaching two hundred kilomtres.

* * *

****

EXODUS - Part Three  
_by Robert Cox (smeghead@ix.net.au) _

The story rolls on, and it seems to be taking on a life of its own now. I have no idea when I'll get it finished. 

Let's just get on with it, huh? 

__

EXODUS - Part Three 

PELLAEON HAS NOW ARRIVED IN THE SOL SYSTEM, AND IS  
DEPLOYING HIS FORCES TO MAKE A FORCED LANDING. HE IS CONFIDENT  
THAT HE CAN SECURE A VICTORY BEFORE THE NEW REPUBLIC CAN  
INTERVENE.

ADMIRAL DAALA, WHO IS ON HER WAY TO JOIN HIM WITH THE  
REMNANTS OF HER TASK FORCE, IS NOW ONLY THREE DAYS BEHIND PELLAEON.  
THE _ERRANT VENTURE_, AN _IMPERIAL_-CLASS STAR DESTROYER  
MARK II, WITH JEDI MASTER LUKE SKYWALKER AND COLONEL CORRAN  
HORN ABOARD, IS NOW ONLY A WEEK AWAY.

MEANWHILE, PELLAEON'S ARRIVAL AT TERRA HAS NOT GONE  
UNNOTICED... 

Deep within the innards of Cheyenne Mountain lay a network of heavily reinforced bunkers. This was the headquarters of NORAD, the North American Aerospace Defence Command, tasked with the defence of American and Canadian air defence during the Cold War years. It had sattelites over the Soviet and Chinese ICBM fields, ready to sound an alert if missiles were launched. Fortunately, this had not occured. Now its radars swept the orbits about Earth, keeping a tally of the ever-increasing amount of objects in orbit, making sure that no debris was on an intercept course with a satellite, or worse,  
a manned spacecraft.

Therefore, it was the first installation on Earth to detect Pellaeon's fleet when it arrived in orbit. 

Major Ken White, USAF, was just beginning his shift as watch officer. Watch officer duty at NORAD was quiet these days, but during the Cold War, it had been a tense job. There had even been a flurry of excitement during the Gulf War when Iraq launched SCUD missiles at Saudi Arabia and Israel. 

He glanced down at the room below him, making a quick inspection of the technicians on duty. Suddenly, one of them sat bolt upright. White idly wondered what would cause the technical sergeant to react like that. Maybe it was another piece of orbiting junk about to impact with the Mir station?

His intercom beeped, and an excited voice burst forth. "Sir, we have a situation. A possible Hovering Angel, sir." 

White felt a chill. Despite the official line that all UFO sightings were natural phenonema, there had been several unexplained contacts. Hovering Angel was the code for that event, just like Fallen Angel was the code for an alien crash/landing. 

The repeater screen on his wall flickered and lit up, displaying the main radar screen. There were thousands of contacts, but they disappeared as they were squelched. Leaving about one hundred and fifty unidentified contacts. "Sergeant, is there a possibility that this is a glitch in the system?" White asked. _Please, God, let this be a bug_.

"Not a chance, sir. I ran the diagnostics before I called you about it. These are real."

"Bloody hell," White muttered, too low for the intercom to pick up. "Very well, sergeant. Continue to monitor the Angels. I'll imform the relevant people." 

He cut the connection, and sat back in his chair. After a moment of contemplation, he unlocked a drawer and opened it. He pulled out a folder, which was bordered by red and white tape, and was labelled "TOP SECRET - HOVERING ANGEL". Opening it, he read through the checklist that was the first page. The first item was, "Confirm contacts." Well, he had done that to the best of his ability. The second item was, "Notify NCA." NCA was a jargonspeak term for National Command Authority. In other words, the President of the United States of America. 

White checked his watch. At least he wouldn't be jolting the President out of bed with this news. He hesitated, knowing that he was gambling his career on this call. You didn't call the President without a _very_ good reason. He picked up the red phone that was the direct line to the White House. When an operator answered with the standard, "White House Signals," he took a deep breath before replying. 

"This is the watch officer at NORAD HQ. I need to speak with the President. We have a probable Hovering Angel." 

* * * * 

Pellaeon watched from the command chair on the _Chimaera_'s bridge as the communications techicians set up their equipment. Since Terra relied on electromagntic waves for its communications, he couldn't use the array of communications equipment that he normally would.

The senior tech looked up and said, "Ready, sir. We've been scanning and have programmed the frequencies into the transmitter. Several of the major local languages have also been programmed into the translator."

Pellaeon nodded and signalled the tech to begin the broadcast. A red light winked on on the recorder, and he began, "I am Admiral Gilad Pellaeon, and in the name of the Empire, I formally demand the surrender of Earth to Imperial forces..." 

* * * * 

Rick was doing some late-night channel-surfing, flipping from channel to channel in the hopes of finding something decent to watch. Tash had given up about an hour ago, and was now fast asleep and snoring softly.

Suddenly, the image flickered, and the image of a middle-aged man in some sort of grey uniform with red and blue squares on his chest appeared. _What the hell?_ Rick thought. _Have I flipped to some sort of wierd sci-fi channel or something?_

"I am Admiral Gilad Pellaeon, and in the name of the Empire, I formally demand the surrender of Earth to Inperial forces now orbiting your planet," he began. _Somehow I doubt that this is a TV show_, Rick thought, noting that the man's lips weren't quite in sync with what he was saying. 

"Hey, Tash!" he called out. "Check this out!" 

"What is it, Rick?" she asked sleepily, coming into the lounge room. She suddenly became wide awake when she saw what was on the screen. Pellaeon was continuing. "The terms for your planet's surrender are simple: stand down your military forces and allow my troops to land and take up positions. "You have twenty-four hours to comply. Failure will result in the harshest possible measures." Pellaeon's image flickered, and vanished from the screen. 

Just then, the phone rang. 

* * * * 

The United Nations was in an uproar. An emergency meeting had been hastily called to discuss what reply to give to Pellaeon's demand. The American ambassador stood up. "The United States of America will ignore the surrender demands, and will fight with all resources. Our strategic weapons will, of course, remain under national control and will only be used as weapons of last resort. 

"We encourage other nations to join us in defending our planet. To this end, we propose Resolution 359/98: that a headquarters be set up, comprising senior military officers from all countries, to co-ordinate the defense of our planet." He sat down, and the Russian ambassador stood up.

"The Russian Republic concurs, and we will also fight, alone if necessary." Other ambassadors voiced their agreement. As the British ambassador put it, "Better to die on your feet than live on your knees." 

A vote was called on the resolution, and it passed. Unanimously. 

* * * * 

"Board is green. We are ready to go," an Air Force officer said after giving the console in front of him one last scan.

"Concur," the other officer said. They were sitting in a Peacekeeper silo. There weren't as many of them as there were only a few years ago. The START and START II treaties had seen to that. 

It had been decided that the launching of ICBMs at the Imperial fleet would be the best answer to Pellaron's message. A few _Ohio_-, _Delta_-and _Typhoon_-classSSBNs would add their SLBMs. "Operation SKY HAMMER will commence on my mark," said Major White from NORAD HQ. NORAD had been chosen to co-ordinate the operation, due to the space-tracking radars under its command. "Five... four... three... two... one... Mark. Inititate." 

The two officers twisted their keys, and sat back. No-one was really sure how many missiles would actually work, since they had been sitting there for the last ten years. To the delight of everyone, all of the missiles lifted from their silos and streaked up towards the fleet. From Russia and the SSBNs, more missiles were added. 

Earth was sending its reply. 

* * * * 

"Admiral! Sensors indicate the launching of missiles from the planet's surface!" a sensor tech shouted. 

"WHAT?" Pellaeon shouted, totally surprised. 

"Infra-red sensors detect launches from the surface. Tentatively identified as missiles."

__

The Outbound Flight Data indicated that the Terrans didn't have this level of technology. But then again, it was_ written fifty years ago_. The screen in front of him flickered, as the launch sites were plotted. "Destroy those sites," Pellaeon snapped. 

"Yes, sir," the weapons officer replied, but before he could announce that he had achieved weapons lock, he was interrupted by the sensor tech. 

"INBOUNDS!!! We have multiple inbounds! Five... six... seven... eight... approxmiately _one thousand_ inbounds!"

Pellaeon's jaw sagged, but he quicky recovered. "Target the inbounds and open fire!" he barked. 

"Yes, sir," the weapons officer said. "We have lock... firing now." 

It was a mathematical process. The targeting computers on each Imperial craft easily acheived lock, and _Lancer_-class frigates moved into a position where their specialised anti-fighter/anti-missile batteries cought be brought to bear. The Lancers were the first to open fire on the incoming warheads. 

They took their toll, but there were simply too many inbounds. Other ships joined the barrage, and more warheads were vapourised. About one-quarter of the incoming warheads survived the defensive barrage to slam into the Imperial fleet. After that, the laws of physics took over. 

In a matter of nanoseconds, the reactions had taken place. Waves of heat and pressure slammed against the ships' shields like the shockwaves from multiple mini-supernovae, with temperatures and pressures rivalling that of a healthy stellar core. The results were as predictable as they were dramatic. 

As if that wasn't bad enough, the EMP - Electro-Magnetic Pulse - generated by each exploding warhead rippled out at the speed of light, acting like ion cannons, and crippling the electrical systems of every ship that hadn't been destroyed. 

Pellaeon watched in horror as one of his _Executor_-class vessels absorbed about a dozen warheads. That proved to be far too much for its shields to handle. With its shields down, it was easy prey for the next wave of half-a-dozen warheads, which ripped into its unprotected hull.

Even an eight-kilometre long Super Star Destroyer cannot take three megatons of explosive force. Vast areas of the ship simply vapourised, and atmosphere rushed out in torrents. When the explosions had died down, allowing the viewscreen to revert to its former setting, all that coud be sen of the _Devastator_ was a few half-molten scraps of metal. Pellaeon slumped in his chair. He had seen the _Executor_ die at Endor, but he didn't think it was possible for an _Executor_-class vessel to simply... vanish. 

Around him, he heard the exclamations of shock and surprise as the bridge crew struggled to deal with what they were seeing. Oddly, this served to steady Pellaeon. He was an officer in the Imperial Navy, and he had to provide an example. 

"Damage report?" he barked. "Minor damage to electrical systems, but that should be fixed within minutes," his damage control officer said as he scanned his board, regaining control of himself. 

"Losses?" 

"The _Devastator_, four _Imperial_-class vessels, ten _Victory_-class vessels, and about twenty smaller ships," the sensor chief said. 

Pellaeon could feel the shock coming back. _One-tenth. We've lost one tenth of our force already, and we haven't even landed_. "Weapons!" he snapped "Lock onto the cities nearest the missile launch sites!"

The weapons officer pressed a few buttons on his board. A hologram winked into life above his board, and split into two, showing two different parts of the plant's surface. The targeting crosshairs were over two urban areas. One was called 'Salt Lake City', the other one 'Vladivostok'. 

"Fire!" Pellaeon ordered. 

* * * * 

The Rogues, Luke Skywalker and the other Jedi, and Mirax were gathered together in one of the training areas. The lesson for today was languages. All the people who were going to make planetfall were learning English, so that they could communicate with the locals. 

Most of them had at least a working knowledge, and some were getting quite fluent. It wasn't that hard, really - the words themselves were pretty simple, but it was the grammar that was proving to be the main sticking point. To make sure the lessons stuck, all conversations were now in English.

Corran was studying his datapad intently, absorbing information at a rapid rate, when all of a sudden, he felt a sharp pain rip through him. He clutched his stomach and groaned, wondering what was happening.

That wave of pain had just passed when a second wave, more intense than the first, washed over him. It proved to be too much for him to handle, and he gratefully lapsed into unconciousness. 

* * * * 

Rick, who was also a corporal in the Australian Army Reserve, was sitting in the boozer, watching the television and trying to figure out what was going on, while working his way through a can of coke. Someone had showed commendable initiative, knowing that they were going to be mobilised sooner or later, and had decided to gather everyone in the company together. He was debating the possibilities with one of his fellow corporals, when suddenly he felt like someone had punched him in the stomach. The other corporal noticed this, and asked anxiously, "Hey, Rick, are you okay?"

Rick nodded weakly. He had no idea what had just happened, or why. He was about to say something, when the same invisible gorilla that had punched him in the stomach decided to hit him in the head, and he blacked out.

On the television, unnoticed in the sudden chaos, the announcer was saying, "In breaking news, government spokesmen of the United States and the Russian Republic have just announced that they have launched nuclear-tipped missiles at the Imperial fleet in orbit..."

She broke off as a piece of paper was slid across her desk. She quickly read it, and her face went pale. "Ladies and gentlemen, something truly horrible has happened. The cities of Salt Lake City and Vladivostok are reported to have been fired upon from orbit and completely destroyed. Casualties are said to be in the millions..." 

__

[Alright, I confess - Rick is_ Force-sensitive. While he wouldn't be able to feel the effects of violent death through the Force as much as, say, Luke or Corran, when millions of people are killed, even a completely untrained person should be able to notice it. Which makes me wonder why Luke didn't feel the deaths of billions when Alderaan was destroyed...] _

* * * * 

Corran opened his eyes to find himself in the _Errant Venture_'s primary sick bay. He turned his head to the right to find Mirax sitting there, concern clearly written on her face. When she saw that he was awake, she said, "Corran! Don't you _ever_ do that to me again!" Although her tone suggested annoyance, he could tell that she was relieved to see that he was unhurt. Any reply Corran might have made was abruptly cut off when Mirax decided to kiss him. 

When the need to breathe had ended the kiss, Corran turned his head in the other direction to see Luke sitting in a chair, looking rather weak. "Wha... What happened?" Corran managed to ask. "All of a sudden it felt like someone had just slapped a sonic projector against my head." 

"I'm not sure... but it felt like millions of voices crying out in terror - and then being silenced abruptly..." Luke's voice trailed off as he remembered old Ben Kenobi's reaction when Alderaan had been destroyed. _"I felt a great disturbance in the Force... as if millions of voices were suddenly crying out in terror and were abruply silenced. I fear something terrible has happened."_ Had Pellaeon destroyed Terra? Impossible - he didn't have a Death Star or another similar superweapon. Besdies, he wanted to capture it intact. But the feel of death through the Force was unmistakeable. 

A chill ran through Luke. He knew that millions of sentient beings had just met a violent death... and all he could do was try to recover from the shockwave in the Force that had resulted. 

* * * * 

Pellaeon watched the turbolaser beams obliterated the two cities. So the Terrans wanted to play rough? Fine. He could handle rough. In fact, he could probably teach the Terrans new standards of rough. "Send down the first wave of assault shuttles," he ordered. The invasion of Terra had begun. 

* * * * 

General Turr Phennir adjusted the controls of his TIE Defender, trying to get the best resolution for his scanners. His fighter group of TIE Defenders and TIE Advanceds was the advance guard for the assault wave of landing shuttles. The devastating Terran response to Admiral Pellaeon's ulitmatum had surprised him - and worried him. What other surprises were in store for the Imperial forces? 

At least his fighters were shielded, which allowed them to take more hits before they were destroyed. Phennir had always wondered why TIE fighters hadn't been shielded. All Rebel fighters were shielded, which anulled any manoeuverability advantage that TIEs had. The shock that he had gotten when the Terrans had launched their attack at the fleet was second only to the one he had received when he heard that Colonel Baron Soontir Fel had defected to the Rebels. The Empire's greatest fighter ace, defecting! 

Fel had sent him a message explaining his reasons, and extending an invitation to defect as well, along with a promise of a place in Rogue Squadron, the same unit that had defeated the 181st at Brentaal IV. Phennir sympathised with Fel, but had remained with the Empire. He had come close to defecting when Isard had taken over, but after her death at Thyferra, and when Thrawn took over, he had stayed loyal. Since then, he had wondered why... He smiled grimly to himself as he watched one of his Advanceds slip back into formation after wobbling slightly as they entered atmosphere. 

According to a story that Fel had told him on Brentaal, Fel had been the one responsible for the design of the TIE Advanced... 

* * * * 

Major Fel climbed out of the TIE Interceptor simulator. He had just mopped up an entire squadron of cadets single-handedly. Admittedly, it was a bit rough to throw cadets who had just been introduced to the TIE up against a seasoned veteran, but it was an unfair galaxy all round. 

He was in the process of moving to where the cadets were gathering, intending to point out their mistakes and how they could be rectified, when he spotted a large figure dressed in midnight-black armour approaching him. Fel felt a sudden spike of fear. _Vader! Why is _he_ here? Surely it has nothing to do with the Rand Ecliptic debacle? I hope not..._ Three of his best students defecting to the Rebels! He had been told to forget any hopes of being posted to the new Death Star, which was seen as punishment enough - or so Fel hoped. 

Vader surprised everyone, though, when he said, "It has been brought to my attention that there is a pilot of exceptional skill stationed here. Where is this pilot?" 

The other pilots in the simulator complex shuffled their feet nervously. With a mixture of fear and curiousity, Fel stepped forward. Attracting the Dark Lord of the Sith's personal attention meant either one of two outcomes, diametrically opposed to each other. 

You could find your rank increasing at a rate much faster than you thought possible, or you could find yourself writhing on the floor, desperately trying to breathe as Vader used the Force to crush your throat. 

"What is your name, Major?" Vader asked. 

"Soontir Fel, Lord," he replied, trying to quell his fear. It didn't seem that Vader was about to kill him... 

"I am in the process of assembling an elite squadron to match the unexpectedly high skill levels that Rebel pilots have shown. I wish to test your level of skill, to ascertain whether or not you should be a part of this squadron."

"I... would be most honoured, Lord," Fel had stammered. Serve in Darth Vader's _personal_ fighter squadron? After the defection of Klivan, Darklighter, and Janson, he thought his career had been effectively ended. Not only was he _not_ being posted to the Death Star, he knew that his days as an instructor at the Academy were numbered, and down to single digits. Vader said nothing, but began walking in the direction of the simulators. 

Fel trotted to catch up to him, while behind him, the cadets and simulator operators scattered to the control room. Fel was willing to bet every last credit he had that there was going to be a large crowd clustered around the repeater displays, watching and probably placing bets on who was going to win. Irrationally, Fel wondered what odds he would get...

His musings were interrupted when Vader said, "Hold nothing back, Major. I want to see how good you can be." Those words, said in a tone of one fighter pilot to another, surprised Fel. _Hold nothing back? I didn't intend to hold anything back,_ he thought as he pulled his helmet on and prepared for the toughest duel of his life.

Half an hour later, drenched in sweat and tired almost to the point of exhaustion, Fel almost crawled from his simulator. He had to be assisted, but he didn't notice the hands helping him. _I _won_! I beat Darth Vader in a one-on-one duel! That has _never_ happened before!_

Vader said nothing, but merely stalked out of the complex, leaving a message in Fel's mind. _Outstanding performance, Major. I shall be back for a rematch..._

Fel won that one as well. A few days later, he heard from a friend who was an engineer with Sienar Fleet Systems that Lord Vader had submitted a design for a totally new series of TIE fighter... one that had shields. 

* * * * 

Phennir was jolted from reminiscing when his threat-detector beeped, signalling that it had picked up electromagnetic signals which, based on their frequency, seemed to be search radars. The detector beeped again, higher-pitched, as the frequency changed, announcing that they had been picked up and were being tracked. _So they intend to make us fight to make groundfall_, Phennir thought. T_hat's fine with me. I'm good at that._ He snapped a few quick orders and his fighter group changed from escort formation to an attack formation. 

* * * * 

Commander Matt Adamson, CO of VF-84 "Jolly Rogers", reefed his F-14D Super Tomcat up in a hard climb, endeavouring to intercept the Imperial fighters and transports on their way to landing sites. His backseater called, "Judy! We have solid lock!" as their powerful AWG-9 radar easily found a target. "Ready with Phoenix." 

__

Let's start this party, Adamson thought as he fired a pair of Phoenixes at the lead Imperial fighter. "Fox One," he announced over the radio, and watched the two blips race towards his target, joined by a swarm of similar blips as the rest of the 'Jolly's fired their missiles. 

* * * * 

A high-pitched warbling tone announced to Phennir and the other Imperial pilots that they had incoming missiles. _What?_ Phennir thought, checking the range to the fighters that had launched the missiles, and finding it to be one hundred and eighty kilometres. _They have missiles that outrange ours!_

That was a significant advantage. Phennir hoped that there would be no more nasty surprises waiting for them when they hit the ground. But they had to _reach_ the ground first. A quick glance told Phennir that there were two missiles aimed at his fighter. While he was fairly confident that his shields would be able to withstand the impact, he didn't want to test that theory unless he had to. 

"Incoming! Evade!" he ordered his fighter group as he commenced evasive manouevers that would shake the surprisingly persistent lock the Terran fighters had on him. 

Phennir somehow dodged one of the missiles, but the other one slammed into his shields with an explosion that rocked his fighter. _Shields down twenty percent_, Phennir thought as he checked his damage indicators. Scanning for the rest of his fighter group, he noticed that two Defenders and three Advanceds hadn't been so lucky, managing to dodge one missile to blunder into many others. Their shields down, they had fallen prey before they could react. The unshielded Starfighters and Interceptors had taken a hammering. Hampered by their atmospheric manoeuverability restrcitions - they flew like lumps of durasteel - and their lack of shields, their numbers had been cut by one quarter. 

A steady chirping from his sensor unit told Phennir that the Terran fighters were closing rapidly, obviously intending to make a pass at the transports that he was escorting. He advanced his own throttles to the stops, jinking about in a random course that would make him difficult to hit by missiles. Arming his concussion missiles, he watched the numbers on his rangefinder scroll down at a rapid rate. 

* * * * 

"Splash twenty," the report from the nearby E-3 Sentry stated. Adamson was slightly disappointed with the result. _We fired at least a couple of hundred missiles, for only twenty kills? Something is not quite right in the state of Denmark..._

Well, he still had two more Phoenixes. And two Scorpions. And two Sidewinders. And his cannon, if it came to that. Quite a respectable amount of firepower... by Earthly standards, anyway. How it would stack up against these invaders was anyone's guess, but going on how the first volley had gone, it wouldn't be too impressive. 

That was no excuse, though. This is what he was paid for. He locked up the lead Imperial fighter. "Fox One," he announced again, as he fired his last two Phoenixes at an enemy which, for reasons known only to God and themselves, had yet to return fire. 

* * * * 

Phennir glared at the sensor scope as if it was responsible for what it was reporting. More of those surprisingly long-range missiles were streaking in at his fighter group. The scope beeped again, announcing that it had acquired a target and was beginning the lock-on process. The second Terran volley achieved less than the first one, since the Imperial pilots had learned that a combination of radical manouevering and liberal use of decoys had moderate sucess in decoying the missiles into veering away from the Imperial fighters. 

The targeting reticule went red, and a steady keening tone filled Phennir's ears. "Missiles away," he announced as he hit the firing stud to send two concussion missiles on their way. 

* * * * 

There was little warning. One second, they were drving hard to get into Scorpion range - and almost there, too - and the next, Adamson watched his squadron virtually disintegrate around him. Only two survivors were left from what had been a full-strength squadron. 

__

D'hell? Those missiles sure pack a punch! Adamson thought somewhat dazedly. Then he realised. _Missiles trade weight for range. Our Phoenixes outrange anything they have, but have lighter warheads_.

"Scorpion lock-on!" his backseater shouted, jolting Adamson back to reality. 

"Fox one, and here's hoping the third time really _is_ the charm," Adamson said as he fied his two Scorpions at a target he hoped would be killed by them. 

This volley did better since, unlike the Phoenix, the Scorpion was powered all the way into the target, making evasion more difficult. The return Imperial fire ripped another swathe through the defenders, and only the fact that the Imperials were outnumbered by a considerable margin prevented the battle from ending there and then. 

The Air Force pilots rippled off their remaining Scorpions, which was returned by another volley of concussion missiles and proton torpedoes. Another seriously lopsided exchange. Things were starting to look very grim... 

* * * * 

Phennir drew the same conclusions that Adamson did. _We're outranged, but they're outgunned_. The locals' missiles were obviously optimised for fighter-to-fighter combat, whereas proton torpedoes and concussion missiles had been designed to do damage to capital ships. Phennir had always subscribed to the theory that putting weapons designed as anti-capship on fighters was a mark of desperation. It was a simple rule of combat that the best thing for killing a capital ship was another capital ship. The fact that all New Republic fighters carried them was a probably a holdover from the days of the Rebellion, when they had had nowhere near enough capital ships.

A brief message crackled in his helmet. The shuttles and assault carriers were preparing to land. His mission to prevent Terran fighters from interdicting the landings had been successful. His new mission was now air superiority, and to escort the bombers on their missions. He could start on the air superiority bit right now. 

* * * * 

Adamson cursed bitterly to himself - after making sure that he wasn't expressing his opinions over the radio. They had gotten so wrapped up in the dogfight that they had forgotten about the landing craft. The fighters couldn't take ground, but the troops aboard those craft could. 

He put that thought out of his mind, as the Imperials were now closing on him, obviously intending to begin air superiority missions. Fighters may not be able to take and hold ground, but they helped make it a lot easier for the ground forces... 

* * * * 

Having expended all their missiles, the Imperial fighters were now closing to laser range. They were advancing somewhat cautiously, as the Terran fighters seemed to be far more manoueverable - something that made perfect sense to Phennir. After all, these fighters _were_ limited to atmospeheric operations, and a lot of design effort had obviously gone into making them as aerodynamic as possible. It was easy to tell that they were fighters, as they had the graceful lines that marked them as predators. Phennir wondered how they handled. 

Well, these predators were now about to meet another predator - one higher up in the food chain.

He closed in on one of the lead fighters, a large craft with two vertical - stablisers, obviously - sticking up at the rear. There seemed to be some sort of insignia painted on them, a skull and crossbones on a black background. Squadron insignia, obviously. 

Suddenly, and without his threat-recevier making a sound, two flashes appeared from under the fighter's wings. Small specks, which left near-invisible exhaust trails, raced towards his Defender... and there was no time to avoid them.

The fighter rocked under the impact, but far less than when the other missile had hit. _Short-range missiles_, Phennir realised. _Small warheads_.

He armed his lasers and settled the fighter in the targeting reticule. It flashed green, but before he could fire, it slid neatly out of it again. Phennir grinned a predator's grin. The Terran was obviously a skilled pilot. This was bound to be interesting. The last time he had faced off with a truly skilled pilot was at Brentaal. He had thought that it was Wedge Antilles, but later learned that it had been Antilles' second-in-command, Tycho Celchu. Not that it mattered, since he had been ordered to break off the duel before it had really started. 

Not this time... 

* * * * 

Adamson was cursing again, this time at the puny warhead on the Sidewinder - totally ignoring the fact that he had once held the opinion that the Sidewinder was a brilliant missile for close-in work that was just too far away for a cannon to do any good.

Suddenly, his RWR shrilled at him, and he sideslipped to get out of the forward arc of the Imperial that was closing on him. Adamson checked his weapons display. No missiles left, which left cannon. He wasn't too sure about how effective the 20mm rounds would be against the fighters, but he was about to find out by experiment. 

The fighter that had seemed to single him out was now coming into visual range. Adamson was keen to see what it looked like. The image clarified...

"What the hell is _that_?" his backseater asked, totally incredulous.

"I have no idea, Jack," Adamson replied, just as flabbergasted. It appeared to be a ball with three panels sticking out of it at equal angles from each other. The panels were bent up at the edges. It looked rather ugly to Adamson, who was used to the aerodynamic lines of the Tomcat and the like. This thing looked like...

"I bet it flies like a brick," he muttered disparingly, then paused as an idea hit him. Of course! In space, there was no drag, so you could build in whatever shape took your fancy. Maybe even allow for a better placement of weapons... 

Adamson shook himself. He could think about it later. Right now, he had to survive this encounter. 

Did it carry short-range missiles like the Sidewinder? Somehow, he doubted it. And if it carried more of those devastating missiles, he was probably within the minimum range for them anyway. Which left... 

A radar-controlled gunsight. The Tomcat had something similar, but the pilot still had to work a bit. Adamson didn't fully trust them, anyway. They always assumed that the target was going to keep on the same course, and they never did. Flicking his weapon selector switch to 'cannon', he took a deep breath and prepared for the fight of his life. 

* * * * 

Phennir was suitably impressed by the Terran's skill. Three times, he had managed to get the enemy fighter into his sight, and three times, it had skipped away before he could fire. The Terran had even managed to get into his rear arc once, and the Defender had rocked under a series of impacts. 

Not lasers, but extremely rapid-firing projectile weapons. Which was good and bad. They did less damage per hit than lasers, but since they fired far more rapidly, a _lot_ more hits were scored. 

He was also hampered by the fact that he was less manoeuverable than his opponent. His shields made up for it somewhat, but if the Terran managed to get behind him, and stay there long enough to overwhelm his shields... 

Well, he just had to make sure that that never happened, then. He banked hard, and slid into firing position for the fourth time. Before the sight blinked green, he pressed the firing stud, hoping that he'd actually hit something, but at the exact same time, the Terran did that slip/slide thing again, and the beam missed - but not by much. 

* * * * 

The green bolt slid past the canopy, causing the termperature to spike suddenly. 

"SHHHHIIIIIT!" the backseater screamed, obviously rattled. "What the hell was that?" 

"Laser of some kind," Adamson replied, only marginally calmer himself. If a miss had heated the cockpit up like that, a hit would have...

Better not think about that. Adamson knew that he was a fairly good pilot - he'd topped the Top Gun course, and that was probably the hardest course in the Navy - and this guy was at least as good as he was. He had to concentrate if he was going to survive, let alone win. 

The Imperial was now dropping on his tail again. Adamson flicked a switch on his throttle. _I wonder how he reacts to _this, Adamson thought. 

* * * * 

Phennir lined the Terran up again as his fighter straightened up for a moment, but before he could fire, small protrusions appeared on the wings. _What?_ Suddenly, Phennir was jinking sharply to avoid slamming into the rear of the Terran. _Reverse-throttle hop_, he realised. _Which means..._ Sure enough, the Defender shook under a series of hammerblow impacts. A thin whine became audible, indicating that the shield generators were unhappy with the amount of kinetic energy that they were being asked to compensate for.

A quick glance told Phennir that he was in trouble. _Shields in the red. Gotta_ move. But before he could, an electronic crackle and an even more violent series of impacts told him that his shields were down. A sudden draft of air told him that his hull intergrity had been compromised. 

__

Damn, this guy is very _good_. But so was Phennir. Under Fel, the 181st had had a fearsome reputation - a well-earned reputation. Phennir hadn't made it to second-in-command based on his good looks.

__

Two can play the reverse-throttle hop game, he thought as he thumbed a control. Within a second, the Terran fighter appeared in his gunsight. Just as he hit the trigger, it dived sharply away, causing the shot to only be a 'damage', rather than 'kill'.

A quick glance at damage control and fuel guages told him that he didn't have time to play. There was only barely enough fuel to return to his ship, and the damaged panels could come off at any time.

Phennir threw a salute at the departing Terran, who was driving away from the dogfight as fast as possible, trailing smoke. The pilot had been an equal, and would have fitted in well in the 181st. 

* * * * 

Adamson was startled when the Imperial fighter appeared to stop dead in mid-air, forcing him to stop firing and move past it. As he was slamming the stick forward to get out of the danger arc, it felt as if a large boot had slammed into the rear of his Tomcat.

"SHIT!! Number-one engine out! Fire light lit!" the backseater screamed. "Fuel handle pulled! Engine power cut! Extinguisher activated!" There was a long moment's pause, then, "Fire light out. I suggest we make like the good shepherd and get the flock out of here." 

"Can't argue there," Adamson said. "Which way?" 

"Okay... nearest strip is... Mountain Home." The steering cue on the HUD swung to the right, indicating which way Adamson should turn.

"Zoomies, huh? Think they'll feed us and put us up for the night?"

"Hope so. They eat a lot better than us."

"And their rooms are nicer, too." 

* * * * 

Rick was the first to spot them. The battalion convoy had stopped to refuel, and everyone was taking advantage of the opportunity to stretch their legs and relax. Suddenly, Rick felt a tingle in the back of his mind, and instinctively looked up. He saw contrails swirling about in totally random patterns, punctauted by dirty grey puffs. Somehow, he knew that an intensive dogfight was going on above him, and that the Royal Australian Air Force was fighting for its life... and coming off second best.

By this time, everyone else's attention had been drawn to the duel, and someone asked, "What's going on?" 

Even though that question had been aimed at no-one in particular, Rick decided to answer. "The Imperials are making their landing. And the RAAF-ies are trying to stop them." He shook his head before continuing, "Somehow I doubt that they're having much luck."

"Good call, Rick," came a voice from behind them. Rick glanced over his shoulder to see his company commander standing behind him. "We've just gotten the word. The landing site has been plotted, and it's about eighty kilometres west of Orange - which is where we're going right now." He grinned feraly. "So what are we waiting for?" 

* * * * 

Wing Commander Ben Hogan was beginning to despair. They had engaged the Imperials about ten minutes ago, and they had all but lost the battle in that time. Their first salvo had achieved some results, but since then, then initaitive had slipped completely from their grasp. And to make matter worse, some of the ships seemed to be shielded in some way, making it all but impossible to shoot them down. It was those ships that had done the majority of the damage, with any RAAF fighter that closed to try to do some damage to it being blasted out of the sky by some sort of laser.

__

If we can't use our cannon, what can we do? he wondered, noting that he was completely out of missiles. Ganging up on one was not an option, as the other Imperial ships in the formation simply blasted the attackers from the flanks and rear. 

As he expended the last of his cannon ammunition on one of the fighters, he hoped that the Army was on the ball. The Air Force had done all they could, and that hadn't been enough... 

* * * * 

Pellaeon was flicking through the first after-action reports, hoping for good news. There had already been some rather nasty surprises. First was the missiles launched at them. The scientists were still specualting as to what they were, but the preliminary reports hinted at some sort of thermonuclear reaction, akin to that which powered the Star Destroyers' engines.

Which explained their destructive force. Pellaeon had seen fusion reactors overload before, and the results were always devastating. The other major surprise was the fierce struggle that the Terrans had put up to oppose the landings. Pellaeon had led the conquest of worlds that had capitulated far quicker than this one, even with a higher level of technology.

Or did the Terrans have a level of technology equal to that of his own? So far, all that they had encountered were atmospheric craft. What if they had transatmopheric craft waiting in standby, ready to pounce? That would be very bad indeed. Suddenly Pellaeon recalled that the atmospheric craft were unshielded. A slim reed to be sure, but he felt that, with perserverance, he would win through.

He came to the casualties and estimated kills section, and frowned. Admittedly, there was a twenty-to-one kill ratio in his favour, his fighters having shot down approximately three thousand Terran fighters in exchange for one hundred and fifty of his own - and the vast majority of them being unshielded Starfighters and Interceptors - but the Terrans had a major advantage over him. 

They could replace their losses. 

It was as simple as that. He had to conquer this planet before his losses climbed too high. But that was not an over-riding concern at present, just something that he should remain aware of. Right now, he had to ensure that he sat back and resisted the temptation to meddle. Micromanaging the assault would only hamper it. He just drafted the outlines of long-term plans. His staff added flesh to it, and subordinate commanders fitted their units' own individual plans into it. If all went well, the end result should be a polished piece of planning that would hold the key to the conquest of Terra.

But something always went wrong. Pellaeon remembered something from the Naval Academy, 'You can plan all you like, even down to the service numbers of each individual trooper to be involved if that is your wish, but you must always be prepared to react to unforseen circumstances. Flexibility, gentlemen, is the key to winning in a modern war. If you are more flexible than your opponent, you will soon wrest the initiative from him. Victory should follow,' the instructor had paused to scan the lecture room before grinning suddenly, 'barring any unforseen circumstances.'

Words to live by, Pellaeon decided. 'Be ready for anything' was the unoffical motto of the Imperial Fleet. 

* * * * 

Rick was nervous, and rapidly moving to terrified. The fact that his section was the lead section for the company, probably the battalion as well, didn't help at all. The fact that there were only two people, his section's scouts, closer to the bad guys than him made it worse.

One part of his mind was screaming that this was total idocy, but the rest of his brain ganged up on the pessimistic part and pounded it into submission. He was doing something important, and didn't need to be plagued with doubts.

He scanned around him, and grinned mirthlessly. On training exercises, he'd had to badger his section not to bunch up, and make sure to look to the people in front and behind them to make sure no imformation was being missed. Now that they were doing it for real, everything was going smoothly, almost as if by magic. All of a sudden, Rick felt a growing sense of unease, even worse than it had been before. He wrote it off to the fact that he was now going into combat for real.

Which was a mistake, since just then heavy firing broke out from in front of him. 

* * * * 

Lieutenant Stour Helir was watching the Terran infantry approach his position with interest. They appeared to be competent enough, moving forward in a fairly spread-out formation, and carefully searching around them. 

Now he would see how well they reacted to being under fire.

His cobbled-together scout unit, consisting of four AT-ST scout walkers and two dozen recon stromtroopers mounted on hover bikes, was posted at one of the more likely approach routes leading to the landing zone to prevent the Terrans from infiltrating raiding parties or artillery observers into range of the vulnerable landing operations. He passed on the order to fire, and watched as the laser bolts lanced out at the approaching enemy. 

He was not surprised with the results. The Terrans scattered for cover so fast it seemed that they had disappeared, leaving behind two bodies of soldiers who weren't quite quick enough.

"Control, this is Scout Seven. Contact with enemy ground forces. Estimate platoon-sized unit. Engaging now, over," Helir reported tersely.

"Acknowledged, Seven," the reply came back. 

Helir ordered the driver of his walker to move forward, and then ordered the recon trooper commander to sweep wide around the flanks. This shouldn't take too long. 

* * * * 

"Bloody hell!" Rick snarled, risking a quick glance at where the fire had come from, then looking towards where his two casualties lay. Somehow, he knew that one of them was still alive, and his conscience nagged at him to make a pickup. All around him, the other members of his section were busy returning fire, aiming at where the Imperial fire was coming from. The enemy fire remained as heavy as ever, which led Rick to belive that his men's fire was having no effect.

He came to a sudden decision. There was a wounded mate out there. Australians _never_ leave a mate in trouble. Slinging his rifle, he gathered his courage and dashed out towards the wounded soldier. The rest of the section, seeing what he was doing, intensified their rate of fire to cover him.

He grabbed both by the collar and started dragging them back towards cover. By some miracle, he actually made it. A quick glance told him that one of them was dead, with half of his chest vapourised, and the rest charred and blackened. The other one was moaning softly, a large chunk taken from his left leg.

Suddenly, Rick heard a high-pitched whine, which was surprising enough to make him divert his attention away from his first-aid efforts and look for the source of the sound.

Half-a-dozen white-clad figures burst into view, mounted on some bike-like device that floated about a metre off the ground. Rick had no idea what they were, but they looked impressive enough. His machine gunner had other ideas, and a stream of tracers connected with the lead rider, who tumbled backwards off the rear of his bike and hit the ground hard.

Rick was elated. His men had struck back! Then his heart sank as he saw the Imperial solider clamber back to his feet, obviously hurt more by the impact with the ground than being hit by several bullets. _That white stuff must be armour of some kind_, he realised glumly. _And nothing we can throw at them even slows them down_.

He was just about to order his section to pull back - they were obviously outgunned and probably outnumbered - when he heard heavy impacts with the ground, and several boxy shapes came into view. _'Mechs? If not that, then what the hell are they?_

They were simply large metal boxes on legs, with what were obviously weapons emplacements slung underneath and mounted on the sides. Two openings were sited where eyes would have been. 

Instinctively, Rick aimed his rifle and snapped off a hasty burst. Most of the shots bounced off the armour around the openings, but a few found their mark. _Alright_, Rick thought._Now all I have to do is find something that'll be more effective_. He searched around, and he spotted the grenade launcher that was carried by one of the riflemen. 

Grabbing it and all the grenades he could find, he cracked it open and loaded it with swift, sure movements. Estimating the required evelvation, he aimed and fired. Without waiting to see what effect it had, he reloaded and fired again. 

* * * * 

Helir was pleased with his unit's performance. They were moving forward, and everything the Terrans threw at them seemed to have little effect. 

Suddenly, a gout of dirty grey smoke burst from the viewports of the AT-ST next to his, followed by the small explosion as the capacitors for its weapons exploded, then the main power cell overloaded, destroying the Walker. To say that Helir was merely surpised would be a massive understatement. Shocked and stunned would be a more accurate description, since the intel brief that he had received before landing had confidently stated that the Terrans had no weapons that could put a Walker - even the comparatively lightly-armoured AT-ST - in real danger.

__

Once again, the intel boys are not very intelligent, Helir thought bitterly. To make matters worse, whatever weapon that had destroyed the Walker had left no sign of where it had been fired from, which meant that Helir couldn't get revenge by hosing down the area. Just then, he spotted more infantry racing towards the fighting, obviously trying to reinforce their beleaguered comrades. _That_ was something he could do something about. Leaving the other two surviving Walkers to keep the rest of the infantry pinned down, he turned his own Walker's guns on the arriving reinforcements. 

* * * * 

__

About friggin' time, Rick thought, as the rest of the platoon rushed in to help.

Just then, laser beams swept through the formation, dropping bodies in their wake. Rick had a sinking feeling that both the platoon commander and the platoon sergeant had went down - hard, meaning that they weren't likely to get back up - in that burst. Which made him acting platoon commander, as he was the senior corporal in the platoon. _What a way to get a promotion_, he thought.

Well, it was a fairly simple choice as to what to do now. Stay - and probably die to the last man, which was not something he looked forward to. Or bug out, and bring back at least some of the platoon. Rick wisely opted for choice number two. As he took cautious glances around to determine where everyone was, he was distracted by that high-pitched whine again. He spun around, just in time to see...

One of those bike things again, but it was aimed directly at him this time. Acting purely on instinct, he stepped to one side, flipped his rifle end-for-end so he was gripping it by the barrel (wincing slightly at the heat that came through the leather gym gloves he was wearing), and played a hook shot that Adam Gilchrist would be proud of.

It connected with his target - the driver - and sent him tumbling from the back. Rick also staggered back somewhat - the impact velocity had been somewhere in the vicinity of three hundred kilometres per hour. One glance told Rick that the rifle was wrecked - most of the butt from the magazine back was missing. He scooped up the Imperial trooper's weapon and took a quick glance at it. Slightly bigger than submachine-gun-sized, with a mazagine - power pack, actually - sticking out from the side. 

A low-voiced groan snapped him from his examination, reminding him of the trooper he'd flattened. The armour over his chest seemed to have absorbed the impact amazingly well, but the shock probably had at least bruised a couple of ribs. _Maybe broken them_, Rick thought. Another thought occurred to him. _Hey, I've just bagged a PW_.

With swift, sure movements, he stripped the trooper's equipment belt from him. Then he gave an order he didn't like, but had to give anyway. "BACK!" he shouted. "PULL BACK!" Turning to the trooper, he gestured with the weapon and said, "Okay, buddy. Move it." He wasn't too sure if the Imperial understood English, but the gesture was an unmistakeable _Get moving_. 

As the Imperial trooper started to haul himself to his feet, Rick heard that high-pitched whine again... 

Looking over his shoulder, he saw two more troopers on those weird floating bikes aimed straight at him. Spinning around, he instinctively aimed and pulled the trigger. A series of laser bolts stitched their way across the riders' chests and both tumbled backwards of the bikes. Quickly turning around again, Rick saw that the trooper he had captured was in an awkward position, too out of balance to make a break for it, or to try to attack Rick. The whole sequence of events had transpired too quickly for that.

A series of crashing sounds... Rick glanced that way. An Australian soldier burst through some scrubby undergrowth, obviously looking for Rick. "Saw those two guys going for you," he panted, obviously affected by physical exertion and riding an adrenaline wave. "But it seems you didn't really need my help." 

"It's the thought that counts, Craig," Rick replied. "Shall we?" 

"By all means," Craig replied.

The remnants of the platoon slipped away, picking up what wounded they could transport and hauling their prisoner along with them. Unfortunately, due to the haste of their retreat, they missed a few. 

* * * * 

Lieutenant Helir let them go. There could be another Terran unit waiting nearby, ready to slip through any gaps opened up in the defensive perimeter. "Scout troopers, dismount and perform a sweep of the area. The Terrans may have left some valuable intel behind," he ordered, before unclipping a blaster carbine from its rack and turning to the driver of his AT-ST. "Maintain a watch. If any more Terrans approach, or if a message from higher up comes in, let me know immediately."

"Yes, sir," the driver replied crisply. 

With a nod, he climbed up through the roof hatch of the Walker and then down the side, using hand- and foot-holds provided for the purpose. He had to see for himself. 

The sweep was going smoothly, with a handful of unconscious Terran infantry who had passed out from their wounds being found and marked for retrieval, as well as the bodies of their slain comrades. 

Suddenly, a burst of gunfire rang out. "Report!" Helir barked into his comlink. 

"There's a Terran who refuses to surrender," the distorted voice of one of the scout troopers reported. "He seems to be wounded." 

"Stay put. I'm on my way." 

"Yes, sir." 

When Helir arrived on scene, a scout trooper sergeant told him, "The Terran is about thirty metres that way."

Helir cautiously glanced around the tree the sergeant had been using as cover. The Terran was indeed wounded, as Helir could see the darkened patch of his camoflauged uniform that indicated fairly serious bleeding.

But he was propped up against the tree, the barrel of the weapon he was carrying tracking from side to side as he searched for more targets. Helir pondered the alternatives. He could order the Terran shot, but his stomach turned at the prospect. Or...

"Just stun him, sergeant, and haul him back," Helir decided.

"Yes, sir," the sergeant replied, in a toally neutral tone of voice that concealed what he thought of the order, while his helmet similarly concealed his expression. The sergeant then leaned slightly around the tree and fired a single stun bolt before ducking back. A second glance must have revealed a stunned enemy, for the sergeant did not duck back. Instead, he waved forward a couple of troopers to collect the unconscious enemy.

First contact between the Imperials and the Terrans had been made. 

* * * * 

On another part of the planet, it was dark, and the nocturnal predators were on the prowl.

They came in three distinct types: AH-64 Apache attack helicopters at tree-top level, relying on the terrain to hide them from whatever sensor stations the Imperials may have set up. At slightly higher levels - but not much higher - and a fair distance back - a squadron of B-1 Lancer bombers raced in, using their stealthy characteristics and low altitude, combined with their high speed, to protect them. And at higher altitudes, and somewhere in between, distance-wise, the two squadrons of F-117 Night Hawk stealth fighter-bombers in the USAF glided through the night, totally reliant on their stealth characteristics, since their handling left much to be desired.

This was a probe, designed to try to find any weaknesses in the Imperial defenses. If it succeeded, a _much_ larger strike package was currently being prepared. Rommel had known what he was talking about, even fifty-some years ago when he said that enemy beacheads must be smashed as soon as possible, preferably on the first day, what he termed 'the longest day.'

The Imperial 'beachead' was two thousand kilomtres from the nearest ocean, but the principle was the same. 

* * * * 

The Night Hawk pilots were sweating, but not because of the thick fireproof Nomex flight suits they were wearing. Even though stealth had proven its effectiveness in Panama and the Gulf, the characteristics of the Imperial sensors were totally unknown. The designers of the Night Hawk had taken the frequencies and other important characteristics of Terran radar platforms into account when designing the F-117. It was just that nothing like the Imperial invasion had _ever_ been considered an even remote likliehood.

Which caused the nervous sweat on the pilots' part. Their briefing officers had tried to instill some confidence in the pilots before take-off, saying that the angled panels should deflect enough of the radar energy away from the receviers to prevent a return signal from appearing, but the fact that absolutely nothing was known about the sensitivity of the receivers made it a futile effort. In the end, the pilots just said a prayer and hoped.

Maybe God was on their side, because as they approached the Imperial landing site, the RWRs on the Night Hawks began to pick up incoming signals and the flight computers asked the pilots if they wanted the signals jammed, giving a 87% probability that the signals could be successfully jammed. Unanimously, the pilots refused to activate their trackbreakers and signal jammers. The jammers emitted more energy than was reflected, and would be a great way to give away their position.

With jamming removed as an option, the powerful computers crammed into the Night Hawks' fuselages chewed the available data and considered their options for perhaps 250 milliseconds, before reporting a 95% probability that they had gone undetected... 

So far, anyway.

In the cockpit of the lead Night Hawk, the package commander looked at the chronometer display on his HUD. If the Apaches had managed to keep to their part of the plan, they would be in position in a few seconds, and would begin launching their missiles a few minutes later in an attempt to reduce the Imperial air defences. At roughly the same time, his Night Hawks would drop the two-thousand pound laser-guided bombs they were carrying, trying to do the same. 

That effort was not made any easier by the fact that no-one had any idea at all as to what Imperial air-defence emplacements looked like. They would have to target by guesswork, which was not exactly an efficient technique. Oh, well. 

Just then, a beep sounded in the pilot's earphones, announcing that it was time. He unstowed the laser designator, and pointed it at something that looked like a vehicle. The computer locked it into its memory as a target and examined the outside conditions as reported to it. The velocity, altitude, attitude, and heading of the aircraft. Wind speed and direction, humidity, temperature, air pressure, and a dozen other variables were examined and their effects on the coming drop taken into account. Three hundred milliseconds later, the computer announced its satisfaction by flashing the word 'DROP' in large flashing letters in the bottom left-hand corner of the HUD.

Now this was the most dangerous part of the mission. The bomb bay doors had to be opened, since bombs find it rather hard to fall through a few inches of fibresteel and other nonmetallic substances. And with the bomb bay doors open, the Night Hawk loses all stealth capabilities. 

The pilot opened the bomb bay doors. 

* * * * 

On the ground, the Imperial techicians manning the sensor consoles were about to start tearing their hair out in frustration. For the last five minutes, blips had been appearing and disappearing at random, and the computers hadn't even been able to come close to getting a solid track on them, let alone a solid weapons lock-on. 

Just then, two dozen blips appeared on the screens almost simultaneously... and stayed long enough for the computers to start processing all the data needed by the air-defence weapons operators to feed to their charges so they could begin the process of swatting them from the sky. 

But seconds after the first two dozen blips appeared on the screen, they were joined by nearly fifty others. The computers analysed these new contacts, and reported the results: free-fall gravity bombs. The target locks were quickly switched to these new threats and weapons-free status quickly followed. 

With these new instructions issued, the weapons quickly opened fire on the new targets. Besides, the Night Hawks had closed their bomb bay doors, returning them to electronic invisibility. 

* * * * 

The commander of the Apaches noted the ground fire directed at the Night Hawks. He took a moment to think about his mission, and about Task Force NORMANDY, which had ripped a huge hole in the Iraqi air defences in the first few seconds of Operation Desert Storm. 

Then he gave the order to fire. 

Almost four-fifths of the Apaches were the older model, unable to fire their Hellfire missiles over the hills they were using for concealment. This meant that they had to rise high enough to fire their missiles over the hills. This meant exposing themselves to Imperial fire, and since the Apache is _not_ stealthy they were quickly detected, and just as quickly fired upon by those batteries not involved in swatting bombs out of the air.

As soon as the last of their missiles were away, the Apaches ducked back into the cover provided by the terrain, with about a quarter making the trip rather more quickly than hoped for - as flaming debris, with the missiles they were guiding 'going stupid', and missing everything.

The rest of the missiles, however, blazed in towards their targets, and some Imperial air defense batteries turned their fire on them. The Hellfire's high speed, combined with its short range, meant that most survived to hit their targets. 

Some managed to find unshielded emplacements, and destroyed their targets with large fireballs. Most, however, hit shielded emplacements, and the shields on those emplacements held. It also happened that most of the shielded emplacements were the air-defense weapons so that, in net terms, so far the raid had achieved very little. 

* * * * 

The commander of the squadron of B-1 bombers racing in at full throttle - about nine hundred kilometres per hour - noted the explosions in the distance. _Right on time_. He also noted that the suqadron had reached the IP, or Initial Point, and also the place where they would go to full afterburner, which increased their speed by another four hundred kilometres per hour, at the cost of an eightfold increase in fuel consumption. And also a massive increase in their infrared signatures.

He moved the throttle around the detente and all the way forward into the afterburner zone. Thirty seconds to target. 

* * * * 

The twelve massively increased thermal blooms stood out dramatically on Imperial sensor screens. The operators noted these new returns and briefly wondered why they had gotten so close - ten kilometres - before being picked up. Then they noticed the altitude readouts for the new contacts. They were so low that even a hiccup would probably send them slamming into the ground. The computers analysed this new data and announced that the new contacts were prbably small attack craft, based on their high speed and low signal return. 

Since most of the air defense batteries were already engaged in shooting down bombs or the other attack craft that had appeared earlier, only a few were available to engage this new threat. 

* * * * 

"Uh-oh," the electronic warfare officer muttered. 

"What is it, Chris?" the pilot asked, concerned.

"We've been spotted... fire-control radars coming up... now," Chris replied.

The pilot muttered a curse. Normally, the bombers would be proceeded by Wild Weasel missions, using radar-hunting HARM missiles to try to roll back the enemy air defenses, but this mission had been laid on too quickly for that. Now they had to drive into the teeth of the Imperial air defenses. "No time to worry about that. Bomb bay doors opening... now. Fifteen seconds to drop." 

* * * * 

Like the Night Hawk, the Lancer loses it stealthy characteristics when the bomb bay doors open. The sudden increase in return from the dozen new signals was noted at every sensor station, and the operators were alerted. "_BOMBERS_! Range... damn... _four kilometres_!"

"FIRE!" the commander screamed, caught by surprise. What else would the Terrans throw at him?

Half-a-dozen batteries switched their attention from the bombs - which had been mostly destroyed by this time anyway - to this new threat. But it was too late to do any real good. 

* * * * 

"Bombs gone! Get us the hell out of here!" 

The pilot didn't waste time saying anything. He simply made the tightest turn that he safely could and beat feet out of there. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a bright flash as an Imperial air defense battery hit a Lancer in the bomb bay as it was still unloading. The four-man crew never knew what had hit them.

Another Lancer had its two left-side engines shot out and slammed into the ground, sliding along the ground on its belly for three hundred metres before coming to a halt. Through some miracle, all of the crew survived.

A third Lancer had the front end shredded when a bomb was hit just after leaving the bomb bay. The wreckage of the plane and its crew showered down in a fairly concentrated area, due to the ultra-low altitude. 

The rest made it home safely. 

* * * * 

The raid was over... or so the Imperial commander hoped. It had come as a nasty surprise, and only the handful of portable field shield generators had prevented massive amounts of damage. He was going through after-action reports when a junior stormtrooper officer appeared in front of his desk. 

"What is it, Lieutenant?" he asked, looking up in some annoyance. _This had better be good_ was what the tone of his voice said.

"The salvage crews have found something they think you should see, sir," he replied.

"Very well, Lieutenant." 

It _was_ worth seeing. It was the Terran bomber that had crash-landed in the middle of his base. The salvage crew were gathered around it, taking readings and making noises of astonishment. The Commander walked straight up to the senior tech and asked, "What do you think is so important, Chief?" 

"This, sir," the tech replied, tapping the fuselage of the crashed bomber. Instead of the clean ringing noise associated with metal, a dull _thud_ was produced. 

"It's not metal!" the Commander exclaimed, astonished. 

"That's right sir. And take a look at the shape. We believe that these two factors are the reason why it didn't show up on sensors until it was so close. And also why there was such a small return."

"And also the fact that they were flying so low," the Commander mused.

"That's right, sir. This could be a passive cloaking system." 

__

That got the Commander's complete and undivided attention. "_Passive_ cloaking? How is that possible?"

"Well, sir, the method of cloaking the the New Republic and ourselves have been working on is based around active measures, such as projecting a 'dead field' where no electromagnetic energy can penetrate. That's why the cloaked vessel can't use its sensors. 

"But the guiding principle behind this system seems to be twofold: whatever this craft is made of, it isn't metal. In fact, I'd be willing to be that instead of reflecting EM energy, it _absorbs_ a fair percentage of it." The tech gestured to the crashed bomber. "Now look at the shape."

The Commander did so. "It's... rounded. Looks like Mon Cal work, in fact."

"I didn't think of it that way, but that's quite accurate sir," the tech agreed. "My guess is that whatever EM energy isn't absorbed by the outer skin is reflected away from the sensor station which means..."

"Which means that since very little or no energy is coming back to the sensor station, the computer doesn't think that there's anything out there! And if some _is_ returned, it's at far less intensity, so the computer thinks it's a fighter-sized craft!" Then the Commander remembered something. "Just before the first bombs dropped, there was a series of randomly appearing and disapperaing contacts. What do you think that was?" 

"No idea, sir, but it could have been another type of Terran craft, possibly with a similar passive cloaking system."

That was not good news, the Commander reflected. Just how many of these near-invisible craft did the Terrans have? 

* * * * 

The shattered remnants of the platoon dragged themselves back through the perimeter the rest of the battalion was setting up while waiting for the rest of the brigade, and more, to show up. 

Their severly reduced numbers drew cries of astonishment and dismay, and not a few stares. The company commander, Major Thomas Henderson, drawn by the commotion, said, "Jesus Christ, Rick! What the hell happened to you?" 

"The Imperials happened to us, sir," Rick replied bleakly. "They had some sort of wierd armour thing that the 66s didn't even scratch, not to mention body armour that stopped everything we threw at it." When he mentioned the armour, he remembered their prisoner. Gesturing the two soldiers who'd been controlling him to move forward, he continued. "It wasn't a _total_ disaster, though sir - barely. We also picked up a friend."

Relieved that Rick hadn't toally fallen apart on him, Henderson said, "Well, since you bagged him, you can take him back to BHQ. They need a platoon to act as Ready Reaction, anyway. It'll probably be a few quiet days to rebuild."

Rick couldn't argue with that. He'd just survived his first combat experience, and now all he wanted to do was to find somewhere to curl up into a little ball and go to sleep... and hope that he didn't dream. 

* * * * 

From above, it was an impressive sight. Literally thousands of armoured vehicles, spead out over a front of several kilometres, we rolling steadily towards the Imperial position. This was the ground part of the United States' effort to kick the Imperials out. 

The second strike of the previous night had been an unmitigated disaster unparalled in the history of the United States Air Force. The Imperials, alerted and having had a practical lesson in the Terran proverb about departed livestock and locked doors, had had fighters in the air, and warships on standby. As soon as Terran atmospheric craft were detected launching, the warships unleashed an obrital bombardment on the bases, destroying the launch facilities and many aircraft on the ground. The fighters in the air had taken care of most of the rest.

The Air Force had had the ball ripped from their arms. Now its was up to the Army to see if they could remedy the situation. 

* * * * 

From the hatch of his M4 command vehicle, Major General Allan Franks (no relation to the commader of VII Corps during Desert Storm), commander of the First Amoured division, couldn't see much. There was simply too much dust being kicked up by the armoured vehicles all around him.

But when he closed the hatch and moved to the command area, however, he could see everything. Which is probably why the M4 carried the unoffical nickname of the 'God Car'. Icons designating the units under his command, as well as the units flanking and in front of his division were easily idenitfiable on the IVIS screen in front of him.

And it was a pretty impressive sight.

There was the Second Armoured Cavalry Regiment, ten kilometres in front, carrying out tactical reconnisance. Between the cav and his division was the Big Red One - the First Infantry Division. Flanking him on the left was the First Cavalry Division. And on the right was the Second Armoured Division - the famous 'Hell on Wheels'.

This was America's prime armoured troops, carrying the fight to the Imperials, letting them know that maybe they weren't welcome here. 

If the plan worked, the cav would fix the Imperial defensive locations, then the Big Red One would deploy into its assault formation, mounted or dismounted, depending on the amount of anti-armour fire they received. Once a breach had been forced, the First and Second Armoured and First Cavalry would pour through, ripping up administrative and supply elements before swinging around to take the Imperials from the rear. That was the plan, and the corps commander had used the KISS principle - Keep it Simple, Stupid. 

Franks just hoped that Murphy wasn't paying too close attention here today. That bastard had a real knack for screwing things up. 

Just then, the IVIS display flickered and changed, with several new 'enemy' symbols added. Franks nodded as the pattern emerged. The Imperials seemed to follow the universal deployment strategy of placing outposts ahead of the main body of troops, which would serve as advance warning of any enemy approach. Undoubtedly, those outposts were now screaming for either reinforcements or permission to bug out, since outposts tend to be rather light on weapons.

As these thoughts were crossing Frank's mind, several symbols - both enemy and freindly - had flashing red borders added to them, indicating that those units were in contact. Some, from both sides, blinked out... 

* * * * 

"TARGET!" the gunner called out as the 25mm high explosive shells chewed through the Imperial emplacement, causing it to explode in a spectacular fireball. The commander of the recon Bradley looked around for a new target, and found none. 

The Imperial outpost had been neutalised - a nice way of saying 'blasted into very small pieces'. A double handful of lightly-armoured Imperial vehicles were either smoking or still ablaze. A similar number of emplacements were still burning merrily. 

And a handful of Bradleys were also burning. Thankfully, the Imperials had had only relatively light weapons, the track commander, Major Tim Hanks, mused, or there would be far more Bradleys burning. His own Bradley was scarred from several glancing hits that had cased the armour to melt and run.

As commander of the Second Sqaudron of the Second Armoured Cavalry Regiment, his role was more to direct the troopers under his command than take part in the battle himself, but he'd always been a 'hands-on' type of commander, unwilling to send his soldiers forward into battle while he hung back himself.

He sent his contact report up the chain of command, and received a standard acknowledgement. Just then he heard - and felt - several loud 'thuds', the sort made by a large weight hitting the ground.

"What the..." he muttered, dropping into the turret to look through the sights. What he saw amazed him. A simple description would be this: take an elephant, and pump several gallons of the strongest steriod available into it every hour, on the hour, for several weeks. Then remove the tusks and tail, before slapping some armour on it.

That would be the best way to describe an AT-AT to someone who had never seen one before.

And there were a lot of them. "Five, eight, fifteen, twenty-seven, thirty-six..." Hanks muttered as he counted. Plus a whole bunch of smaller, two-legged versions. "What's the range to those things?" he asked the gunner, who had had more training as usuing the sights.

"About five kilometres, sir," the gunner replied, glued to his own sight.

__

Somehow, I doubt that the Bushmaster is gonna have much effect on those things, Hanks thought. _Except to make the mad at us_. "When they get in range, fire both TOWs at them," he ordered. Passing the same message along to his squadron, he got back several acknowledgements.

To the attached tank company, he sent the order to fire as soon as they were in range. Since the Abrams can reach out and touch targets at longer range than the Bradley, the tankers opened fire almost immediately... and did little or no visible damage. The Elephants - as Hanks was already calling them - absorbed the damage and kept plodding steadily along, like sped-up versions of glaciers, and maybe just as unstoppable. They didn't return fire, though - maybe, just maybe, they were outranged. 

* * * * 

Colonel Jeron Veers - son of the Maximillian Veers who had been the commander of the ground assault forces on the Executor - swore bitterly as another hit from a Terran tank made his Walker rock. "Can't we return fire _yet_?"

"Sorry, sir," the driver/gunner replied. "We won't be within range for another minute or so."

__

Damn! Veers raged silently. _It seems that projectile weapons _do_ outrange energy weapons. How many times have I said it? The AT-AT needs a projectile weapon so it can hit targets at longer range!_

Just then, the head of the Walker three down from his exploded, obviously hit by several shots. _Now the Terrans have learned that these things can be stopped, they'll probably concentrate their fire on the heads_.

"In range, sir! Firing now!"

The cockpit of the Walker shook and vibrated as the heavy lasers under the chin and the lighter anti-personnel weapons mounted on the sides started spitting deadly bolts of coherent light at the Terran vehicles. Several exploded in satisfactory fireballs, and the rest began evasive manouevers - at a pace that came as a surprise to Veers. _Damn, they're fast!_

A running gun battle began, with the Walkers still plodding remorselessly forward, and the Terran vehicles dodging frantically, shooting whenever they got the chance. 

* * * * 

"Damn!" Even threre the way no way he could have predicted that the weapons on the Elephants were so powerful, Hanks still felt responsible of underestimating their capabilities. 

When the first Elephant had been decapitated by several sabot rounds, he immediately passed on the order to go for head shots. Unfortunately, the TOW missiles carried by the Bradleys lacked the punch to cleanly decapitate them, while the Elephant seemed to have more than enough firepower to destroy a Bradley.

So, while a platoon of Bradleys would have to concentrate their fire on a single Elephant to stand a chance of bringing it down, the other Elephants would be picking off stationary targets, as the Bradley has to stop to fire its missiles.

The Abrams, however, could shoot accurately while on the move, and were doing so to great effect. 

The solution was simple, if distasteful. Pull the Bradleys back, while the Abrams kept up the fire on the Elephants. A happy accident had revealed that the smaller versions were vulnerable to TOWs, and the Bradleys started picking them off. But the Elephants were still causing horrendous losses. Hanks had started glancing over his shoulder, both for the purpose of selecting the next position to retreat to, and looking to see if help had arrived yet. So far, he had been more successful in the former than the latter.

To make matter worse, he couldn't even call on help from the rest of the Regiment. They had problems of their own, in the form of other Imperial units attacking them. They, like himeself, were screaming over the radio for any help they could get. Reinforcements, artillery, air strikes... _anything_.

As Hanks looked over his shoulder again to find the next firing position, he saw a massive cloud of dust. The sort of dust that gets kicked up when thousands of armoured vehicles are on the move.

If the situation wasn't so serious, it'd be embarassing. In the movies, it's the Cavalry that rides to rescue. This time, it was the Cavalry who needed rescuing.

Twenty minutes and a kilometre further back later, the lead elements of the First Armoured thundered past, clearly primed for trouble. As more and more Terran armoured vehicles joined the battle, the Imperial forces were forced to give some ground. But they had reinforcements of their own arriving, too, and the battle degenerated once again into a series of individual fights - what was known as a 'bar brawl with guns'.

But the Imperial had the bigger guns in this pub fight, though.

* * * *

General Franks tried to make sense of the way the icons on his IVIS screen were moving. So far, the only pattern that had emerged was that the blue 'friendly' symbols were blinking out faster than the red 'enemy' ones. That was a pattern that had started to emerge a few minutes ago, and one that showed no sign of slowing down. In fact, it was _accelerating_, which was a bad thing. In about another half-hour or so, Seven Corps would be gutted, and since winning this battle was no longer likely, America needed all the troops available to try to stretch the fight out long enough for another counter-offensive to be made.

The corps commander saw the same pattern at about the same time, and drew the same conclusions. "All units, this is Hammer Six. Disengage and pull back. I say again, disengage and pull back. We'll get another chance."

* * * *

The battle was starting to wind down, Veers realised. The Terran vehicles had started to pull back, while increasing their rate of fire. Obviously they intended to break contact, and the increased rate of fire was intended to discourage pursuit. Well, Veers wasn't easily discouraged. He opened his mouth to issue the appropriate orders, when...

"Hold position. Do not, repeat, do _not_ pursue the retreating Terrans."

__

Damn! He opened his mouth again, this time to protest, then he shut it again with a _snap_. The Terran attack, while failing to reach the landing zone, had succeeded in disrupting the Imperial units. A proper pursuit was not possible at this time, since most of the units that had landed had been committed to this battle. Besides, there was the outside possibility that the retreat was a ruse to lure the Imperial forces into some sort of ambush. Veers had doubts about how effective such an ambush would be, but that was not something that he wanted to find out by experiment. In any case, the sheer number of Terran vehicles that were burning made the retreat seem very real.

Also, the first of the heavy equipment and infantry units were just beginning to arrive. The slow, ungainly landing craft were at their most vulnerable during this phase. And to make matters interesting, the shields protecting the landing site had to be dropped, rendering it vulnerable to whatever trickery the Terrans could concoct.

Veers got the feeling that the Terrans could be _very_ tricky if the situation called for it.

* * * *

It was the middle of the night - according to ship time, anyway - when the new contacts arrived. The comm unit by Pellaeon's bunk emitted a very loud, very high-pitched tone designed to wake even the heaviest sleeper. "Wha's 't?" he mumbled, still mostly asleep.

"Sorry, sir, but several new contacts have appeared in-system," an apologetic voice replied. "Their transponders identify them as the ships left behind under Daala's command, but..."

"But what?" Pellaeon asked, somewhat more awake now.

"There seem to be several ships missing, sir."

Pellaeon pondered this new information. _She could have left the others behind_, he thought, but dismissed that as unlikely. The more probable reason didn't appeal to him, though, but he had to consider it. _They were probably destroyed by the New Republic. Daala probably got ambitious again, and bit off more than she could chew_.

He just hoped that she had gotten a good exchange rate. Once again, she had taken heavy losses. _That seems to be a habit she finds hard to break_, he thought, somewhat unfairly.

All of this thought took no more than a second. "When Admiral Daala reports in, have her send a full update. Also, get her to synchronise her ships' chronos with ours. And let me get some more sleep."

"Yes, sir."

Sleep proved to be elusive, though. Daala's arrival and the reports of her losses made him think of how the campaign was faring. _It's going rather well - so far. We've managed to expand the area under our control, despite stiff resistance. The last of the troops will be landing shortly, which will allow the switchover to full offensive operations. Supplies are being used up at something approaching to projected rates, and we brought enough to last for a full year - by then, even the most pessimistic projections concluded that the campaign would be complete._

So why can't I get back to sleep?

The answer was simple: _Because Daala's arrival means that the New Republic is no longer distracted by her presence. Which means that the New Republic fleet is now free to intervene here. And that would be a disaster._ All he could do was hope that the political processes of the New Republic slowed the decision-making process down enough.

With that happy thought, Pellaeon managed to go back to sleep.

* * * *

The _Errant Venture_ was drawing close to its destination, and the final pre-reversion checklists were getting a thorough going-over.

"I'm glad this happened _after_ Booster sank a lot of money into a refit," Corran remarked dryly. He, Luke and Mirax were standing on the _Venture_'s bridge, observing the activity as they prepared to exit hyperspace.

"And that refit took most of my father's money, too, so we're going to do our best to return it to him in working condition," Mirax responded with a smile.

"We'll do our best, dear," Corran chuckled, then sobered up. "So, tell me again why there isn't more than a token array of guns on this beast? I feel kind of naked without them."

"That's the way I like you best, love," Mirax replied saucily, causing Luke to blush and Corran to grin. "As for _why_, the fact that a fully-armed _Errant Venture_ with Booster Terrik at the helm is General Cracken's recurring nightmare may have something to do with it."

"As yes, _now_ I remember," Corran said dryly. "And _yes_, I _do_ remember that it was me that persuaded Booster to accept the reduced weaponry. Ten turbolaser batteries, ten ion cannon and two tractor beam projectors. I just wish I hadn't been so successful in persuading him, that's all."

Just then, the helmsman called out, "Thirty seconds to reversion! Twenty... fifteen... ten..."

On the holopad where Luke, Corran and Mirax were standing, a countdown clock appeared, starting with '00:10' and changing as the seconds passed by.

'00:09': "I've got a strange feeling about this..." Luke muttered.

'00:07': "Something really _unusual_ is happening here..." Corran said.

__

You mean, apart_ from the fact that we're in another galaxy, in a minimally armed Star Destroyer, with only a single squadron of X-Wings to protect us, and, just to make things interesting, we're going to a place where the bulk of the Imperial Fleet is?_ Mirax didn't ask, since both Jedi wore the slightly vacant expressions that indicated that heavy-duty Force-type things were happening. They probably wouldn't have heard her.

'00:04: Corran snapped out of his seeming trance. "I'm going to my X-Wing," he announced.

"Expecting trouble?" Mirax asked, concerned.

"_Expecting_, no. But it never hurts to be prepared. Coming, Luke? I've got a surprise prepared for you," Corran said. "You'll like this."

Luke nodded, and the pair ran for the bridge tubolift.

'00:00': Reversion. With a bright flash, the starlines shrank and changed back to the usual pinpoints of light. There was a brief flurry of activity as the shields were activated and power diverted to the weapons. The sensors were not activated however, since the _Venture_ carried passive sensors that were far better than anything in the New Republic Fleet - or the Imperial Fleet too, for that matter.

"Okay, people, let's see what's out there," Mirax called out.

"Checking transponders now, Captain."

Mirax nodded as the data began to scroll across the holopad. So far, it was going as expected. The locations of the Imperial ships, each with a small data box attached were plotted on the system display. Unsurprisingly, the bulk of the fleet was located at Terra itself, with picket groups on all of the approach routes from the New Republic. Fortunately, the _Venture_ hadn't arrived along one of the expected approach routes. Smuggler's instinct had made Mirax drop out early and approach from another direction.

There also seemed to be a strong reserve group.

Just then the end of the list scrolled by. "Hold," Mirax ordered the holopad. _This can't be right..._

The comlink clipped to Mirax's collar chirped. "What's the matter, Mirax? It seems like you've just received a nasty surprise. Luke managed to pick up on it as well," Corran asked.

"It'd be hard to explain, so I'll just send the relevant data to Whistler," Mirax replied.

"Better send it to Artoo-Detoo as well."

__

Artoo-Detoo? What is Luke's astromech droid doing here?

"That was the surprise for Luke. We loaded his X-Wing along with all the others. The hard bit was making sure he didn't find out about it."

Mirax hit the right buttons to send the data to the two astromech droids. "This can't be right..." Corran muttered.

"That's what I thought too, Corran," Mirax replied, looking at the '_Ship not found_' and '_Ship not in list_' results generated by the search routine. "What do you think caused this?"

"I'm not sure... Luke, remember the two massive jolts in the Force we felt not long ago?"

"I'm not likely to forget them, if that's what you mean. Why do you ask?"

Mirax managed to see where Corran was heading before Luke did. "Are you saying that the _Terrans_ were responsible for the missing ships?" she blurted out, totally stunned.

"Why not?" Corran replied. "Do you see any other possibilities?"

__

No, I don't, Mirax realised. _But to accept Corran's line of reasoning would mean that the Terrans managed to destroy_ thirty-five _Imperial ships, including fifteen Star Destroyers! And one of those was an_ Executor_-class!_

Luke seemed to pick up on Mirax's thoughts. "Sure, the Outbound Flight mission report said that Terra was a pre-spaceflight culture, but that report is now hideously out of date."

When Mirax thought about it, it _sort of_ made sense. But... _thirty-five Star Destroyers!_

"Mirax, are we cleared to launch?" Corran asked, snapping her back to reality.

"What? Oh, sure," Mirax replied. "No, wait a minute.

"I'm coming with you."

* * * *

Their passage, although invisible to sensors - including eyeballs - did not go entirely unnoticed, however. It jolted a junior Imperial officer out of a sound sleep.

Lieutenant Kirey Nilet didn't know what had woken him at first, but a moment's concentration revealed the reason to him and placed him in a terrible quandary. Duty demanded that he report this. But other instincts screamed for him not to reveal his talents.

After all, being a Jedi in the Empire was a risky business.

But the Empire had changed a lot over the last few years.

His parents had been two Jedi who had managed to escape the Purge, and had gone into deep hiding. Even after the death of Palpatine, they had not revealed themselves. Even when Luke Skywalker announced the formation of the Jedi Academy they had not come out of hiding. Some habits get too strong to break. And when their son was old enough, they secretly trained him in the ways of the Force.

Kirey was not old enough to remember the 'old' Empire, the Empire of Palpatine and Darth Vader. The Empire that he knew was a bastion of order and stability, especially when compared to the seeming anarchy promulgated by the New Republic. He had elected to join the Imperial Fleet during the Yevethan Crisis, a time when the New Republic seemed to be at its weakest, and shortly after Pellaeon took charge. That had been a time when several of the New Republic's systems had seemed to be on the verge of leaving, while the systems under Imperial control seemed content to be that way.

After a hectic and fast-paced eighteen months at the Imperial Naval Academy, he graduated at the top of his class, and as a reward, was allowed to choose his first posting. He'd asked for the _Chimaera_, due to its reputation, where he'd been assigned the duty of junior watch officer. He was one of those rare officers who combined excellence at his duties with an ability to get along well with others. This combination is even rarer in junior officers.

He sighed. There was no choice, really. He _had_ to report this to his superiors, preferably directly to Admiral Pellaeon.

With his mind made up, he stood up and moved to the standard Fleet-issue storage unit that was part of all officers' quarters on a capital warship. He quickly dressed in a on-duty uniform, then opened a draw, from which he took a metal cylinder that was about the same length as his forearm.

His lightsaber.

* * * *

Pellaeon eyed the junior officer standing in front of him. The officer - Lieutenant Kirey Nilat, junior watch officer - seemed nervous, but it seemed to be the nervousness that afflicted all junior officers who were confronted by officers who were several ranks higher than themselves.

"Very well, Lieutenant, you have managed to convince your immediate superior that you have important information for my ears only. Now all you have to do is convince _me_."

Pellaeon's eyes were drawn to a gleaming cylinder clipped to Nilat's belt. Surely, it couldn't be...

It was. Nilat unclipped it and pressed a stud on the side. A glowing blade, deep maroon in colour, and about a metre long, extended from the handle. It _was_ a lightsaber. And only one group of people carried lightsabers.

Jedi Knights.

__

A Jedi. I had a Jedi in my fleet and didn't know about it. Which, when Pellaeon thought about it, made sense. Until recently, being a Jedi in the Empire was a rather risky proposition. Now he knew why the information had to be revealed to him, and to him alone. Nilat would not have been able to answer questions as to _how_ he had gotten his information without revealing his Force abilities. And any Jedi who had managed to survive the Purge would have been _very_ good at hiding - an ability they would have been certain to pass on to any children.

Stammering slightly, Nilat told his story. When he got to the end, Pellaeon sat in his chair, stunned - and relieved that he had had the foresight to be in the flag bridge to hear Nilat's tale, away from the inadvertant prying ears present in the main bridge.

The news that several Jedi - including Luke Skywalker - had managed to slip past his blockade and had landed on Terra was not good news. "Do you know which part of Terra they are on?" he asked.

Nilat looked somewhat sheepish. "No, sir," he admitted. "A planet is a large place, and I haven't been able to practice my skills as often as I would like, so..."

"That doesn't matter," Pellaeon cut him off gently. "What _does_ matter is that you had the courage to step forward and reveal this information. As of now, you are relieved of your duties as junior watch officer, and are now attached to me to carry out special duties - namely to act as my bodyguard." Unbidden, a memory surfaced. Grand Admiral Thrawn, dying in his command chair, with the tip of a Noghri assassin's knife sticking out through his chest.

__

The assassin's knife that belonged to his own bodyguard, Rukh, he thought. _But I doubt that history will repeat itself here._ Pellaeon lacked a Jedi's ability to read people, but a lifetime of experience had honed a similar talent. Nilat seemed overwhelmed with pride that he would be so honoured - and not a little relieved that the fact that he had Jedi talents would not get him into trouble.

__

But all - most, _not_ all, he corrected himself, _Jedi serve the New Republic. Now is not the time to find out why Nilat joined the Empire, but it would be interesting to find out._

* * * *

It had been a quiet week for Rick. He had gotten a third stripe, and confirmation that he was the acting platoon commander, at least until a spare officer could be found. He had even managed to get replacements from Admin Company. _Replacements. Warm bodies dredged up from the clerks, cooks, the Q-Store and the truckies._ And when Rick used the word _dredged_, he meant in the context of _things dragged up from the bottom_. Still, they _were_ warm bodies, and enough of them to bring his platoon back to full strength, at least on paper. And he knew better than to complain out loud, ass he knew that he would get no better.

Resigning himself, he tried to train them up to infantry standards, but a week wasn't really enough time.

Just then, Rick felt one of those _tingles_ he occasionally got. The ones that told him which horse to pick on Melbourne Cup day, or told him when to up the stakes in a poker game with his friends. He followed these hunches, as they were usually right.

He looked up - and got a nasty surprise.

About two dozen craft were descending. Thirteen of them were so obviously fighters that even a confirmed groundpounder like Rick could recognise them as such. The rest were... _Shuttles_, Rick thought, with _how the _hell_ did I know that?_ hard on its heels.

They seemed to be heading for the large clearing not far from where the battalion headquarters was set up. His curiousity getting them better of him, Rick headed that way.

* * * *

When he arrived, the ships had landed, with canopies and rampways opening. People were emerging, obviously glad to escape the confined quarters. _They're human_, Rick realised. _Why not? The Imperials are human, too, and they're _definitely_ from out-of-planet_.

One person started giving orders, in the tone of someone who fully expected them to be obeyed. Rick _knew_ they were orders, but the language was completely unfamiliar to him. As he looked on, Rick staggered slightly. There was a certain indefinable _something_ about the orders-giver. And about another person who was climbing out of another of the fighters. _And_ about the group of people who were emerging from one of the shuttles.

Just then, the orders-giver realised that he was being watched, and started heading over to where Rick was standing, along with one of the fighter pilots - the one with that _something_ to him, and a woman who had emerged from one of the shuttles. _She_ didn't have that _something_ about her, Rick noticed.

By this time, a small crowd had gathered around Rick, comprised of other people from BHQ who had seen what was going on and had wandered over. "Who are these guys?" Craig asked.

"No idea, Craig," Rick replied. "They didn't come in shooting, so I'm guessing they're not Imperials. Past that, however..." Rick trailed off as the trio reached him.

The man in the middle stuck out his right hand and said in fluent English, "I'm Colonel Corran Horn," he introduced himself, reaching up with his left had to remove his flight helmet. "Commander of Rogue Squadron, and representative of the New..." His voice stumbled to a halt.

Rick's mouth opened and shut again without him making a sound. Colonel Horn's two companions were looking at him, then at Rick, then back at him. As were the people gathered around Rick. And for good reason, too...

Sure, there were differences. Rick was slightly taller, and had brown eyes instead of green. His hair was a darker shade of brown, too. But still...

"Can someone please explain to me," Rick asked the universe, "why the _hell_ we look as if we're related?"

   [1]: mailto:smeghead@ix.net.au



	4. Exodus Interlude





	5. Exodus Part 4

**Exodus - Part Four**  
_By Robert Cox (smeghead_76@hotmail.com)_

Disclaimer: I've already typed in four of 'em... that's enough. See the other parts if you really want to read them.

The war's continuing. What do you mean, you want more details? There's not really much more to tell. You'll find out as the story continues...

*ducks hurled bottle* All right, all right! Sheesh...

Rick struggles to come to terms with the fact that his grandfather is from another galaxy, and that he seems to be able to control something called 'the Force'. Another question he has to come to grips with is 'is aggression by itself enough to tip someone towards the Dark Side?' Because if the answer is 'yes', Rick is in real trouble...

Oh, and the war's really starting to get messy, too.

NOTE: This is unfinished! But I thought it would be nice to post the 'in-progress' bit...

****

Exodus - Part Four 

THE IMPERIAL INVASION OF TERRA HAS BEGUN WELL FOR  
THE IMPERIALS. AFTER THE NASTY SURPRISE RECEIVED WHEN  
THE TERRANS FIRED THE FIRST SHOTS BY LAUNCHING  
THERMONUCLEAR WEAPONS AT THE FLEET BEFORE THE LANDINGS, THE  
ASSAULT TROOPS MADE PLANETFALL WITH MINIMAL LOSSES. SUBSEQUENT  
COUNTERATTACKS BY TERRAN FORCES WERE BEATEN BACK,  
INFLICTING HEAVY LOSSES ON THE TERRANS.

BUT THE TERRANS HAVE NOT GIVEN UP. THROWING EVERYONE  
WHO CAN CARRY A WEAPON INTO THE FRONT LINE, IT  
IS HOPED THAT A STIFF DEFENSIVE STAND CAN  
SLOW THE IMPERIAL OFFENSIVE LONG ENOUGH FOR NEW  
COUNTERATTACK FORCES TO BE MUSTERED.

BUT WILL ENOUGH TIME BE BOUGHT?

_My grandfather was from another galaxy!_

This was running through Rick's mind – repeatedly, in fact – as he stared dumbfounded at Corran. The last week had seen many surprises piled one on top of another. The first had been that there _was_, in fact, extraterrestrial intelligent life. The second was that there was extraterrestrial _human_ life. The third was that there had been a reconnaissance mission carried out by these humans from another galaxy. The fourth, and possibly final, surprise was that one of the recon team had stayed behind when the others left – Rick's grandfather.

Rick's mouth opened and closed several times, without any sound coming out. He wondered if there were any more surprises in store for him. There were. Apparently, there was this energy field called 'the Force', generated by all living things, and that a group of people called 'Jedi' could control it. No one really knew how it was generated, but the Jedi could control it. And Rick's grandfather had been a Jedi. Which, apparently, meant that Rick had the potential to be one as well.

_Does it get any better than this?_ Rick wondered, somewhat dazedly.

It did.

"There's more to using the Force than just… well, _using_ it. It's a fairly awesome power, and you've got to be careful about _how_ you use it. It's entirely possible, and in some cases, all to easy, to start using the Force for selfish purposes. From there, it's but a short step to using it for evil purposes – the Dark Side. We've had a lot of lessons about what happens when Jedi turn to the Dark Side. As one of my Masters put it: _Anger, fear, aggression… of the Dark Side, are they_."

"Hang on a second," Rick interrupted. "Aggression leads to this 'Dark Side', you say?" He thought for a second, his mind so awhirl that he was amazed he was still thinking coherently. He turned to Corran and said formally, "I greet you, Dark Jedi Horn."

Corran caught on to what Rick was saying at once and half-bowed, saying, "I greet you, Dark Jedi Noah."

Luke was still looking a little puzzled, so Rick explained. "Corran and myself are both in the military. I don't know what the New Republic teaches its fighter pilots, but in the Australian infantry, controlled aggression is seen as a good thing. If you seize the initiative, you control the pace of the battle. And if you control the pace of the battle, you've got a better chance of winning it and coming out alive."

Corran nodded, adding, "It's pretty similar in the Starfighter Corps. You hit hard, you hit fast, but most importantly, you hit _first_. C'mon, Luke – you used to be a fighter pilot yourself."

Luke considered this. "That's something I've never really considered before. When Yoda said that to me, I still didn't really understand the Force the way I do now. And for quite a few years after that, I was too busy to really be able to consider the way the Force worked. But I do know that I've been trying to cut down on my active use of the Force for the last few years in the hope of trying to understand it better. No results as yet, but I know better than to rush it."

Rick glanced over his shoulder to see the Lieutenant Colonel who commanded the battalion making his way over. "I'm sure that this will be an enlightening discussion, but I think I'd better start passing word of your arrival up the food chain."

****

It was an impressive sight. Virtually every mainline railroad track in Europe had been commandeered by the military, and long troop trains were heading west, passenger cars filled with soldiers, while cargo flatcars carried their tanks, infantry fighting vehicles, self-propelled artillery and other vehicles considered necessary. Circling overhead in fuel-conserving racetrack patterns were massive numbers of fighters, more fighters than had been seen in Europe's skies since the end of the Second World War. 

NATO was going to war.

From west to east, vast military machines were on the move in numbers also unseen since the end of the Second World War. The British army was using the Channel Tunnel to reach France, where it linked up with the French army and continued westward into Germany, where other European militaries would join up for the trip further east. But it had been decided that if they waited until everything was ready before continuing, it might be too late. So the German army, the _Bundeswehr_, and the Polish army were sent on ahead. This was amazing enough, given the two countries' long history of warfare against each other. What was even more amazing was their destination.

For the third time in a century, the German army was entering Russian territory. But, unlike the previous two occasions, not to invade. For central Russia had been one of the Imperials' landing sites.

The _Bundeswehr_ was being committed to battle to help the Russians drive the Imperial invaders away. The rest of the European military would assemble in the vicinity of Warsaw before being committed to battle.

Naturally, they were observed.

****

"Admiral, _Dominator_ reports massive troop movements."

"Show me," Pellaeon ordered. The main display flickered as a map of Europe was shown, with the troop movements marked in red. _Massive_ was a good choice of word, maybe an understatement. Even though visual sensors did a poor job of penetrating an atmosphere, they clearly showed kilometres-long troop convoys. Pellaeon mentally ran through his options. He could let them through, relying on his troops on the ground to destroy them.

Or he could employ orbital bombardment to destroy them before they reached the battle area. That was the preferred option. There were only a limited amount of Imperial troops available, with no reinforcements from out-system available. There were a few technical difficulties, though.

"How fast are the troop convoys moving?"

"Approximately one hundred kilometres per hour, Admiral."

Too fast to be tracked by the _Dominator_'s weapons, then. The heavy-cargo repulsorlift vehicles carrying the Terrans' vehicles would just…

Pellaeon cursed. He was falling into the trap of thinking of his opponents as having the same level of technology as the New Republic. Next would be assuming the use of the same tactics. Not unreasonable, given the fact that for his whole career, he'd been fighting against first the Rebel Alliance, then the New Republic.

The Terrans didn't have repulsorlift vehicles. But what did they use instead? A quick search through the relatively small amount of information available, both from the Outbound Flight mission, and information captured since the start of the campaign, revealed that the Terrans used 'railroads', employing fixed travel routes, to transport heavy military equipment. The solution was simple.

"Order the _Dominator_ to fire just ahead of the lead vehicles of the convoy," Pellaeon ordered.

The communications officer didn't waste breath – or time – with questions, but passed the order along. Pellaeon watched as green lines of turbolaser fire streaked across the holographic display, blasting massive craters just in front on the convoys, which had no chance of stopping in time. The display did not convey the massive sounds of destruction as the vehicles crashed, the lead vehicles into the crater, the ones following into the lead vehicles and each other. After that, it was a simple matter for the _Dominator_ and its group to walk turbolaser fire down the stalled columns, leaving annihilation in their wake. Even so, the convoys were so long that it took nearly an hour to reach the tail end.

Even with the impressive amount of destructive firepower that the _Dominator_ group were raining down, there were survivors. But according to the ship's computer – which was far more accurate than human eyes at recording and collating such data – the number was less than one percent.

Which, in a way, was not necessarily a bad thing. You _wanted_ survivors from something like that, to spread the word about what would happen to those who resisted. Pellaeon listened to the damage-assessment reports with mixed relief and horror. Relief that he had managed to stop the massive reinforcement convoys, horror at the imagined carnage on the ground. He hoped that his troops would never be on the receiving end of such punishment.

**** 

The British Colonel fielded the call, acting in his position of NATO liaison to the Russian military. Identifying himself turned out to be the high point of the call. After five very depressing minutes, he hung up and turned to his Russian counterpart. "The NATO troop convoys were spotted crossing Europe and fired upon from orbit," he said without preamble.

"And?"

"And virtually annihilated," he replied, visibly trying to hold back tears. His unit, the First Battalion of the Royal Tank Regiment, had been completely destroyed. "With luck, we may be able to salvage a combined-arms brigade from the wreckage."

The Russian General was staggered. There had been several field armies on those convoys. Having them cut down to a single regiment was devastating. "Then we shall have to resort to our contingency plan," was all he said.

The British Colonel nodded reluctantly. He had concerns about the contingency plan – not so much the actual plan itself, but the inevitable reprisals that the Imperials would take.

****

From airfields around Murmansk, half-a-dozen swept-wing Backfire bombers lifted from the ground. They didn't lift very far, though, as that would be a guaranteed way of getting shot down. In fact, no one was even really sure that low altitude was sufficient protection – especially from orbital sensors. It was decided to trust to a pinch of warrior's luck.

As it turned out, low altitude _was_ protection from orbital sensors, with ground clutter proving to be just as problematic as for ground-based sensors.

The bombers streaked eastwards at full military power – just under eight hundred kilometres per hour. Even so, they still had over an hour's travel time to reach the launch point for the missiles hanging under their wings. Each bomber carried three AS-6 cruise missiles, codenamed 'Kitchen' by NATO. Although primarily anti-ship missiles, they could be used against ground targets.

And they could carry six hundred kiloton nuclear warheads, which was how they were configured for this mission.

After an uneventful flight – apart from the stress inflicted on the crews by wondering if they would be shot down at any moment – the Backfires reached their launch point. One after the other, all eighteen missiles were launched. The target was the headquarters and supply areas of the Imperial force that had landed in Russia. Eighteen missiles were tasked to cover the possibility of missile navigation failure or the Imperials shooting any of the missiles down before they reached their target.

As it turned out, the mission planners needn't have worried.

****

If the Imperials were unable to detect the bombers as they were inbound to their targets, they _certainly_ weren't about to detect the missiles while they were in flight. However, the double-pulse fireballs of eighteen thermonuclear explosions stood out like a Hutt in a Jawa convention – and that was the first notice the Imperials received that they were under attack.

"Admiral! Massive thermal signatures recorded! Consistent with nuclear warheads – eighteen detonations recorded groundside!"

Admiral Pellaeon somehow managed to resist the temptation to put his head in his hands. He also managed to resist the temptation to wonder what _else_ could go wrong, for fear of making it so. "Damage assessment?" he asked, in a tone of voice far calmer than he felt.

"Severe, Admiral." The sensor officer entered a few commands into his system, and a holographic representation of the area appeared in front of Pellaeon, with the estimated areas of damage appearing in varying shades of red. Alongside the image ran a preliminary list of the units lost – or that had at least failed to check in. The list scrolled off the bottom on the display, causing Pellaeon to hope feverently that the problem was limited to knocked-out communication links for at least _some_ of them.

Scrolling through the list, Pellaeon began to notice a pattern to the names. He crosschecked with the Table of Organization and Equipment of his forces and found that a high proportion of the units were headquarters and supply units. Which meant that, although his forces in the field had suffered only light casualties – in relative terms, of course, considering that they had been exposed to what was normally only found in the heart of a star – but they had no headquarters elements and support facilities. Of the two, the latter was far more urgent. Commanders were easy to replace - up to a point, anyway – but lost combat support and combat service support elements were rarer, with all of the specialists that made them run. Mechanics, engineers, medics, communications specialists, intelligence personnel… hell, even cooks and clerks had their part to play. Replacing them would put a strain on already stretched-thin resources, since reserves of those units were rare in his task force.

Although it seemed callous to refer to unit commanders as easy to replace, it was true. Kill or otherwise incapacitate a unit commander, and the deputy commander would assume command. If the deputy unit commander fell, there was someone to replace _him_. Wipe out a unit's headquarters to a man, and the senior sub-unit's commander would step into the role. That was what the chain of command was _for_.

Pellaeon was jolted from his musings by a pained groan from behind him. He glanced over his shoulder to see what was happening – and quickly spun around. His new bodyguard, Lieutenant Nilat, was standing – barely – with one hand held protectively across his stomach and the other on the back of Pellaeon's command chair. Obviously, that was the only thing preventing him from complete collapse. His face had also gone a pasty shade of white that Pellaeon had only seen before on the faces of horrendously space-sick troopers and crewers undergoing their first experience of zero-g.

"What is…" he started to ask, and then stopped as realisation dawned. Nilat was a _Jedi_. And Jedi, through their link with the Force feel ill effects from nearby deaths. Nilat had just experienced the backwash of tens of thousands, maybe even hundreds of thousands, of deaths all at once. No wonder he looked somewhat queasy. In fact, Pellaeon was admiring Nilat's self-control in not having thrown up on the deck in front of him. His expression still indicated that throwing up was an option, and a hasty _gulp_ indicated that _that_ option was becoming more likely with every passing second.

Pellaeon gestured to one of the stormtroopers on bridge guard – one of the rare few that hadn't been sent down to the surface – and said, "Get him to the medical bay as soon as possible."

The stormtrooper nodded and helped Nilat from the bridge. Pellaeon watched them go, wondering what it was like to be able to touch the Force. Not for the first time, either – when he'd served under Grand Admiral Thrawn, he'd seen both Mara Jade and Luke Skywalker do things that defied belief. He'd also seen, when he was much younger, other Jedi – such as Mace Windu and Ki-Adi-Mundi – do great deeds with the Force as their servant in the dying days of the Old Republic. But there was clearly a downside to being tied so closely to life – such as when life ended. Pellaeon was no great expert on the Jedi – in the Empire of Palpatine and Vader, such knowledge was dangerous – but this was the sort of thing that could be worked out with a small amount of dedicated thinking. Maybe he'd ask Nilat about that before too long.

The bridge door hissed open again. Pellaeon turned again, half-wondering why the stormtrooper was back so quickly… but it wasn't the stormtrooper. It was the _Chimaera_'s executive officer, returning from the medical area himself. He'd been unfortunate enough to suffer a minor fall, slipping on a small puddle of cleaning solvent spilled by an over-zealous cleaning droid in the officer's mess. Normally, such a tumble would only be a source of embarrassment for the victim – and mild amusement for the witnesses – but he'd managed to inflict a moderately nasty gash on himself on a sharp edge of a table on the way down. Not nasty enough for bacta, but too nasty to be simply sealed shut with synthflesh. So he'd needed to get a rather unsightly dressing put on the wound. He'd just been to see the medical officer to see whether it was time to take the thing off or not. Obviously, he'd encountered Nilat.

"I thought bodyguards were supposed to have stronger stomachs than that," he commented with a small grin.

"So he threw up, then?"

The exec nodded. "Made it as far as the sickbay doors, then proceeded to empty his stomach… just as the medical officer reached him."

A nasty thought occurred to Pellaeon. "He didn't…"

"Yep, he did. Fortunately, the medical officer took it quite well – he'd seen the nice shade that Nilat had turned. I didn't know that humans _could_ turn that shade of green. If he put on a couple of hundred kilos in weight, and managed to get a snout and some tusks, he'd do a creditable impression of a Gamorrean."

Pellaeon whistled under his breath. Nilat must have turned a richer shade of green on his way to the sick bay. The exec took up his position next to Pellaeon, where he could assist in supervising bridge operations. He remained standing, to make it easier to get to where he was needed. "I heard we took a nasty hit dirtside," he remarked as he watched the _Chimaera_'s bridge crew perform their duties.

Pellaeon nodded. "Eighteen thermonuclear warheads, targeted on our command and support elements in the Russian theatre of operations. _Nasty_ isn't quite the word for it."

"Do you think the Terrans knew where to aim?"

"No that's not…" Pellaeon caught himself halfway through a rote denial. Maybe it _was_ possible; after all, there _were_ Jedi on the surface who'd managed to slip past the Fleet. Nilat had only been able to identify one – Luke Skywalker, and even then, the identification was somewhat tenuous – but he'd caught mind-tones from a few others who had exhibited traits normally associated with fighter pilots… and some more non-Jedi who'd exhibited the same traits. Maybe a squadron's worth, and one of the Jedi seemed to be in charge, or at least seemed to hold a command role within that unit.

There were only two New Republic starfighter squadrons who had Jedi in them. One was Rogue Squadron, currently commanded by Corran Horn. Rumours about Horn being a Jedi were so persistent that Intelligence were forced to attach _some_ credibility to them. The other was Wraith squadron, and that unit didn't have much in the way of a conventional command structure as such, since each member had considerable input in mission planning, particularly if the mission involved their particular area of expertise – apart from driving X-wings, of course. The Jedi in question there was Tyria Sarkin who, like Corran Horn, hadn't been absolutely confirmed as Jedi but, also like Corran Horn, was the subject of enough rumour and speculation to assign 'probable' status as to her being a Jedi.

Both units were elite units. Wraith Squadron was actually part of the NRI's Operations Directorate. If either one _was_ on Terra, it could mean something even nastier than a thermonuclear strike was in the offing – such as New Republic intervention. To call that _disaster_ would be understatement.

But the military tends to do things in roughly the same way each time. Not out of sloppiness or laziness, but the fact that there are _way_ too many things to do, and not nearly enough time to do them in. So, a checklist for each task that got carried out on even a semi-regular basis; to ensure not only that the task was carried out quickly and efficiently, but also that nothing was left out. In this case, the fact that headquarters and support elements tend to set up in roughly the middle of an Area of Operations.

But the Terrans had shown a reluctance to use nuclear weapons on the surface. Admittedly, ten days was not really enough time to form a firm opinion on the subject, but it _was_ long enough to speculate. After all, win or lose, the Terrans would still have to live on the planet – barring any Imperial depopulation; something that Pellaeon would _never_ order - and digging craters that would remain radioactive enough to kill just about any life form for periods of time best measured in geological eras was not a good way to ensure a habitable biosphere. And not only were the craters themselves insanely radioactive but, according to the information on the subject that had been captured, molecule-sized particles of the fissile material that made a nuclear weapon a nuclear weapon would stick to molecule-sized particles of dirt, metal, whatever, and be carried on wind currents generated by the explosion and cover a massive area, ensuring that people who'd missed out on getting vaporised in the initial explosion enjoyed the benefit of dying from runaway cancers caused by lingering radiation. Within that area, the only difference was in how long it took a victim to die. Pellaeon made a mental note to enquire about possible clean-up methods. After all, _his_ troops still had to use that ground. He had few enough troops as it was, without killing them off with radiation poisoning.

Plus, the Terrans had amply demonstrated that they had weapons capable of hitting their target with frightening accuracy without resorting to nuclear weapons. He'd seen holocam footage of a platoon of four AT-AT's, each neatly decapitated by a single bomb. The only Terran aircraft that hadn't been caught up in the massive dogfight had been fifteen kilometres away. And it had lofted four bombs that far, through a swirling dogfight without hitting any of the fighters involved – although Pellaeon suspected that that was just luck – and each had hit an AT-AT squarely on the head with enough explosive force to destroy it completely. He'd have to find out how those bombs were aimed, and soon.

Also, nuclear weapons destroy everything in a large area. And that was the fact that decided it for Pellaeon. If the Terrans had have known where his headquarters units were, they would have used those incredibly accurate bombs of theirs to take out _just_ those units, instead of vaporising a large area just to get one unit.

All of this took about ten seconds to work out. "No, the Terrans didn't receive any targeting information." And he explained his line of reasoning, noting that it sounded just as impressive when spoken out loud as when he was thinking about it.

The exec seemed to think so, too. "Sounds plausible enough." He paused before continuing. "Is it just me or is it starting too look like we've bitten off more than we can chew?" He waved at the strategic map as if to prove his point.

Pellaeon looked at the map – and wasn't too comforted by what he saw. Sure, the Imperial forces had gobbled up South America and were driving hard through Central America, headed for Mexico and America. The Terran forces there were fighting hard, but were so woefully under-equipped that the terrain was causing more trouble. Tropical rainforest and snow-capped mountains in such close proximity to each other were causing some difficulty. Also, there were worrying reports of guerrilla resistance starting to filter up through the chain of command. In practical terms, it meant that too many of his troops had to be left behind as garrison forces. Something to take note of, but noting to worry about – yet.

In Africa, the situation was much better, since most of that continent was flat and open. Sure, there was rain forest there, too, but not as much as in South America. And the Terran forces there were even worse equipped than in South America, if that were possible. Only South Africa and Egypt were causing problems, but nothing serious. There wasn't even much in the way of guerrilla activity, as if the locals were _used_to armies marching through every so often. So long as the troops didn't steal _too_ much on their way through, they'd just get on with their lives. Imperial forces were gaining ground at something close to the rate originally planned, which was a lot more than could be said for the rest of the planet.

In Australia, things were… Pellaeon couldn't really decide wether the lack of bad news from Australia was good news or just the silence that comes from plotting something really nasty. The Australians had yet to be drawn into a pitched battle – not even the initial contact had been overly large, unlike in America and Russia, where the Terrans had launched multi-divisional attacks, and had managed to do some damage before being driven off. It was almost as if the Australians had realised that they couldn't win straight away, and had backed off a bit to prepare something that would work. They gave up huge areas of ground rather than have their troops surrounded and destroyed in detail. With barely a shot fired… except from ambush, probe and rearguard. It didn't do much damage, or cause many casualties, but what it _did_do was cost time. And time was the one thing that could not be replaced. Currently, Imperial troops were making good progress, but Pellaeon had a suspicion that that wouldn't last too much longer.

In America, things were both good and bad. The American troops were lavishly equipped, by Terran standards and were trained and led well enough. They were quite possibly the most stubborn troops on the planet, too. They also took every opportunity to counterattack, and seemed to make effective use of armoured vehicles and aircraft working together. But… it wasn't any one thing, just something that nearly half a century of uniformed service had taught Pellaeon. The fact that the Americans preferred attack to defence was one thing. There was a mountain range – the 'Rocky Mountains' according to the map – that looked like prime defensive terrain. If the Americans dug in there, they could possibly hold off his forces long enough to gather enough armour to launch a moderately effective counterattack. They seemed too impatient to do that, though.

The though of mountains triggered something in Pellaeon's mind and he called up reconnaissance reports from Australia. Yes, they had a mountain range, too, called 'the Great Dividing Range'. It seemed well named, too. It quite clearly divided the coastal areas from the inland areas, and any mountain range nearly thirty-five hundred kilometres long deserved to be called 'great' in Pellaeon's opinion. There was the report – there were indications that the Australians were preparing defensive positions. Nothing firmer – the Australians seemed to be quite skilled at hiding things they didn't want spotted. Certainly not enough to make it worth directing orbital fire at at the moment.

As for Russia… the news went from bad to worse. Not only had the Theatre Headquarters been virtually annihilated, but also the forces in the field were reporting that the Russians were launching a serious counter-attack. Given the lack of command direction, it might very well succeed in driving his forces from Russia entirely. Plus there were reports of troop movements on a more massive scale than those in Europe moving north from China. Fortuitously, the vagaries of orbital mechanics meant that there were two fire-support groups in range. He issued orders for one to fire on the Russian army, starting with the attacking forces and then the Russian support elements, and the other to fire upon the Chinese forces moving to support the Russians.

He remembered that his exec was still waiting for an answer to his question. Briefly, Pellaeon toyed with the idea of mouthing some reassuring but meaningless drivel, but decided against it. Honesty was the best policy in this case. He turned to the exec.

"Honestly? I don't know."

****

Rick regained consciousness for the third time in as many hours and announced, "As of this moment, I officially hate my life, and everything to do with it."

This comment drew a small chuckle from the small group of onlookers who had gathered around, but even in his presently unhappy condition, Rick could tell that it was somewhat forced. "What the hell happened to you, Rick? You just screamed something incoherent and the dropped to the ground like a sack of shit. Came as something of a shock, too, let me tell you."

Rick managed to prop himself up against a convenient tree, and he saw Craig elbowing his way through the group, with Luke and Kyp close behind. He tried to ignore the spark of glee in Craig's mind when he 'accidentally' shoved an especially annoying and obnoxious officer in the back, and got away with it by offering up a, "Sorry, sir. Didn't see you there."

Rick sighed deeply. That was something that he had yet to fully become used to, being able to pick up on other people's emotions, with how well he was able to pick up the emotion depending on how strongly the person felt the emotion. The closest explanation he'd been able to come up with – both to himself and anyone else who asked about it – was to liken it to a radio broadcast, with each person standing in for a radio transmitter.

Unfortunately, all he got when he used that explanation was a series of blank looks. His rapidly improving skills at picking up other people's emotions revealed that he wasn't really explaining it all that well, probably because he didn't understand it well at all. So he gave up, and let Luke try to explain it, with not much more success. It seemed that Luke was _too_ used to the Force, and was having difficulty explaining the concept to people who'd never heard of it, much less seen it in action.

Rick was saved from further unproductive though by the arrival of Craig, Luke and Kyp. "How do you feel?" Craig asked, the glee slipping from his emotions to be replaced with concern.

"Imagine the worst hangover you've ever had," Rick replied. "Now, multiply it by ten thousand, and then, _maybe_, you might have some idea of what it feels like. What the hell happened, Luke?"

Luke was about to reply when he was interrupted by the arrival of the Lieutenant Colonel who commanded the battalion. He'd shamelessly used his rank and the privileges it conferred to bulldoze his way through the onlookers. "All right, Sergeant," he growled. "What the hell just happened? All of a sudden, you just clutched your head, burbled something incoherent about 'it hurts', and collapsed."

Rick tried to come up with something that sounded semi-coherent, but it was his turn to be interrupted, this time by Luke. "He felt the effects of a large number of deaths through the Force, Colonel. That always has a detrimental effect on Jedi."

"The Force? Jedi?" the colonel asked, clearly as likely to buy that story as he was to buy beachfront property that had the misfortune to be underwater twenty-four hours a day.

"The Force is an energy field created by all living things," Luke explained. On seeing the renewed scepticism on the colonel's face, he chuckled and continued, "Even if you don't happen to believe in it. Jedi are people who can tap into this energy and make use of it for whatever purpose they desire. Of course, this means that a Jedi has to be careful about _how_ he uses it."

"Power corrupts, sir," Rick put in.

"Uh-huh," the colonel said, still obviously dubious. "Care for a practical demo?"

Luke just grinned and made a gesture. The colonel's expression of doubt changed to confusion and then nervousness as he was gently lifted a metre in the air, slowly turned around a couple of times, and then just as gently returned to the ground.

"Okay, I'm convinced," he managed as everyone else took a synchronised step backwards. "Anything else you'd like to show off? Hopefully _not_ something which involves me, I hope."

"Well, there is this," Luke said as he unclipped a cylinder from his belt, and Kyp did the same. Both pressed a stud on the side of the cylinder, and a metre-long beam of light erupted from each cylinder with a sound best described as _snap-hiss_. Luke's was an eye-hurting shade of green, while Kyp's was a similar shade of yellow.

"Neat toys," Craig said. "But what are they?"

"Lightsabres," Luke replied. "The symbol and traditional weapon of the Jedi for a thousand generations, if the legends are accurate."

Rick did some quick maths and whistled softly. Twenty-five thousand years was a hell of a long time. Twenty-five thousand years ago, humans – on this planet, anyway – had been making do with sticks with a sharp bit of rock tied to one end.

"Care to provide a demo of those?" Craig asked, nodding to the lightsabers.

"I don't see why not," Luke replied, nodding to Kam and Callista, who were lurking in the background. They drew and activated their own lightsabers and began what was obviously some sort of practise drill. Rick, who had a few years of martial arts training – including weapons – under his belt, could see that while Kam was moving smoothly, Callista was moving with a slight hesitant awkwardness that hinted at being slightly out of practise.

The sight of the lightsabers, however, had triggered something in Rick's mind, and he lurched to his feet. "I gotta get something," he said, and headed towards where his kit was stored.

"What's that all about?" Luke asked, and Craig simply shrugged distractedly, his attention on the practise duel between Kam and Callista.

"No idea."

****

Lieutenant Helir felt kind of underdressed without his AT-ST, probably because it meant that his protection against small-arms fire had been taken away from him. Of course, the Scout Walker _was_ kind of conspicuous, and of not much use on this kind of mission.

The patrol he led had managed to infiltrate the Terrans' positions, and was now observing what seemed to be a headquarters of some kind. There seemed to be something going on, judging from the fact that there was a small group gathered at one point.

Two of the people were, in fact, somewhat familiar…

With a start, Helir zoomed his optical sensors in until he had a good view of their faces.

_Luke Skywalker and Kyp Durron!_

Helir knew that it was suspected that there were Jedi on the planet – there had been information passed down the chain of command on that subject – but it was still a shock to have that information confirmed right in front of hiss eyes in a way that he could not possibly ignore. They ignited their lightsabers, obviously displaying them to the awestruck Terrans. Two _more_ Jedi ignited their lightsabers and began what appeared to be a training drill of some kind.

_Oh, this just gets better and better…_

Then the Terran soldier who had leapt to his feet returned, brandishing what appeared to be a metallic cylinder of some sort. Helir moved to shift his focus to the new point of interest, while thinking, _It couldn't possibly be…_

His unspoken question was answered – and not in a way that he liked – when the Terran soldier pressed something on the side of the cylinder and a silvery-white shaft of light sprung into existence.

The Terran had a lightsaber, too…


End file.
